


Something Borrowed

by sysrae



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Healing, M/M, POV Alternating, Past Domestic Violence, Pining, Ryan Getzlaf sucks, Slow Burn, back on my Sad Kent bullshit, getting caught, halloween cross-dressing funtimes, original mom characters, passing reference to real NHL teams and players, past suicidal ideation, pierre mcguire sucks, reference to past Kent/Jack, set in the 2016-17 nhl season which is the current CP season as of my writing this, tags will update as the story does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 48,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sysrae/pseuds/sysrae
Summary: All things considered, Ari did his best to prepare himself for the advent of Kent Parson, Potentially Difficult Housemate and New Star Liney. The problem was that his best was an idiot.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 798
Kudos: 758





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My brain needs a break from WIP-writing, so have a fic!

Less than a week before Aeros training camp was due to start, Ari Paxton was jolted awake by an unexpected dawn phonecall. Swearing blearily, he flailed a hand to the bedside table and answered without registering the caller ID.

“Yeah?” he rasped.

“Ari, hi,” said _the goddamn GM_.

Ari sat bolt upright and jammed the phone hard to his ear. “Sir?”

“Listen, sorry to wake you,” said Hallmark, who doubtless wasn’t sorry at all, “but a trade’s just happened. We’ve got Kent Parson.”

At the word _trade_ , Ari went through the full five stages of grief before registering that he wasn’t the one being unceremoniously traded, not least because he had a modified no movement clause in his contract. Then the rest of the sentence landed.

“Kent _Parson_?”

“Kent Parson,” confirmed Hallmark, in a tone that Ari would’ve called breathless from any other person. “We got _Kent fucking Parson_ for Ryker, Marconi and a goddamn _fourth_.” 

“Holy shit,” said Ari dazedly. Marconi was a prospect, a potential top four defenceman and the kind of throw-in piece you’d expect to go with a major trade. But _Ryker_? “Holy shit, you fleeced them.”

“You’re goddamn right I did,” said Hallmark, clearly still high on the victory. “And I’m calling you because we want Parson here for training camp, and I’d rather not put him up in a hotel if there’s a better option. Him and his cat,” he added, after a beat. “I’m told he wants to bring it.”

Ari wondered briefly if he was hallucinating. “Yeah, for sure, he can stay with me. And his cat.”

“Excellent,” said Hallmark. “I’ll forward you his flight details as soon as I’ve got them, but he’ll likely be arriving tomorrow or the day after.”

“Awesome, sure. I can pick him up from the airport.” 

Hallmark hesitated. “One other thing. Parson’s just had an overnight in hospital. Alcohol poisoning, nothing serious, but there’s clearly some bad blood with him and the Aces, or they wouldn’t have given him up so cheap heading into a contract year. I’m not asking you to be his babysitter, but it’d be… helpful, let’s say, if you could help him acclimate to Houston. There’s nothing wrong with his hockey; sounds like all he needs is a change of scenery.”

“Sure,” said Ari, swallowing a lump of questions. “Of course.”

“I knew I could count on you. I’ll be in touch!”

“Thanks,” said Ari, exhaling hard as Hallmark hung up. After a moment, he put his phone down – it was still plugged into the charger – and stared at it, counting under his breath. Less than two minutes later, it started to buzz with incoming texts and alerts about the Parson trade, and with that confirmation that he hadn’t imagined the whole thing, Ari flopped back on the bed and ran a hand over his face.

Ryker being traded was a weight off Ari’s shoulders. They’d played together for three years and he was a talented winger, but he was eight different flavours of asshole off the ice, a good five of which were public knowledge. If the Aces were willing to trade a star talent like Parson – their _captain_ – for a known and letterless problem like Ryker, then either their GM was the second coming of Peter Chiarelli, or the Aces saw this as a problem-for-problem trade – in which case, Parson being hospitalised was a bigger red flag than Hallmark was admitting.

And Ari had just agreed to live with him.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days after the incident, Kent stepped off a plane into Houston with Kit’s carrier in one hand and his phone in the other. His girl hated flying, and it was easier to focus on his distressed cat’s feelings than his own, and so he shoved the phone in his pocket and scooped her carrier into his arms, murmuring soothing nonsense as he navigated his way to baggage claim and took up a spot near the back of the waiting travellers.

“Kent!” called a half-familiar voice.

Shoving down his nausea, Kent put on the media smile he usually reserved for fan events and turned to see Ari Paxton sauntering over, hand raised and fingers wiggling in some stupid, self-deprecating half-wave. They’d never really spoken before outside of small talk at the ASG, but he was every bit as big and broad-shouldered and handsome as Kent remembered, which right now felt like salt in an open wound.

“Hey,” said Kent, aiming for professional-cordial and hitting something slightly colder. “Mind grabbing my bags when they come past? My hands are full.”

“Sure,” said Ari, completely unphased. “Just – oh, hey, look at this pretty girl, huh? Kit, right?” He crouched down to Kit’s level, putting a long, calloused finger against the bars of her carrier. “How’d she like the trip?”

“She hated it,” Kent said, wrongfooted. “Uh. Thanks for, uh. Agreeing to have us.”

“It’s no problem,” said Ari, smiling as Kit deigned to lick his fingertip. He straightened abruptly, tipping his head to the carousel. “What do your bags look like?”

“Uh,” Kent said again, and somehow fumbled out a description. Ari nodded and moved closer to the carousel, and a few minutes later was cheerfully ferrying Kent’s trio of cases out to valet parking, where they comfortably fit in the trunk of his gleaming Land Rover.

“And where does Kit go?” Ari asked, as Kent stood dumbly by the side of the car. “Like, do you wanna strap the carrier in back, or have her on your lap up front, or what?”

“On my lap,” said Kent. And then, a moment later, “Please, I mean. Thank you. Uh.”

Ari grinned but didn’t say anything, politely turning away as a flushed and flustered Kent babytalked Kit into his arms. She clung on like a burr, purring and rubbing her face on his face, which rather complicated the process of getting his seatbelt done up once he made it into the passenger seat, but he managed it somehow.

And then they were driving: strangers stuck in a car together for who knew how long, with nowhere for Kent to hide. He shoved his face into Kit’s fur, trying to keep himself calm. _This is when he’ll ask what happened. This when I’ll have to lie._

“So,” said Ari, oblivious to the way Kent froze up. “Training camp starts tomorrow, but if you like, we can go see Sheddy and some of the guys this afternoon, hang out for a bit.”

“Sheddy,” Kent echoed stupidly, brain belatedly translating this to _Patrick Sheddon, captain of the Houston Aeros_. His captain, now. “He’s – I’ve heard he’s cool, I guess.”

Ari shot him a sideways glance. “He’s a good guy, yeah. It’s only a lowkey thing at his place, just a few guys catching up. There’s no pressure to go if you’d rather just crash for a bit.” He hesitated, then added, “Moving is stressful.”

Kent laughed bitterly. “This isn’t moving. This is being moved.”

“Sorry,” said Ari. He looked like he didn’t know what to say, and Kent felt like an asshole.

“Not your fault,” he muttered. He stroked Kit, encouraging her to settle on his lap, and tried to make his words do something useful. “Sorry. This is just… it’s a lot. I don’t think I’d be good company today.”

“That’s fine,” said Ari. “Seriously, it’s not like we’re going to be short on chances to socialize during the season.” And then he paused again, visibly searching for words, and Kent was abruptly sick of dancing around the issue.

“I’m not an alcoholic,” he said, too quickly. He stared at the footwell, voice loud in his own ears. “Like. I don’t expect you to believe me, I know that’s exactly what I’d say if I was one, but I’m not. I just… I had a bad day, and I was dumb about it. That’s all. So you don’t have to, like, worry about taking me to bars or being weird at parties or whatever. I’m not gonna flake on the team.”

“I believe you,” Ari said.

Kent snorted. “No, you don’t.”

“I don’t _not_ believe you.”

“That’s more like it.”

Ari flicked him a grin. His shaggy brown hair was sunstreaked from a summer spent outdoors, his brown eyes bright against a matching healthy tan. He looked calm and fit and welcoming, and Kent wanted to hate him for it, but he didn’t have the energy. He tried to smile back instead, but found didn’t have the energy for that, either. He thought, _I’m so fucking tired_ , and for a dizzying moment it felt as though the only thing keeping his body upright was Kit; as though everything between ribs and hips was a yawing, cavernous hole.

As Ari drove, he started up an offhand patter about Houston life. When it became clear that he didn’t expect Kent to do more in reply than nod occasionally, Kent relaxed enough to rest his head on the window, staring out at the unfamiliar landscape. He hadn’t thought he was the right type of tired to fall asleep, but between one blink and the next the world faded away, and when he came back to himself Ari was pulling into a long cement driveway that led up to a sprawling, two-story house that almost, but not quite, qualified as a mansion.

“Nice place,” said Kent, one hand on Kit – who mercifully hadn’t moved – as he rubbed his eyes with the other.

Ari gave a modest shrug. “It’s all right. A little big for me most of the time, but it’s great when I’ve got people over.” He chuckled. “Or housemates.”

Leaving Kit’s carrier in the car, Kent carried his cat and one bag up to the door, while Ari led the way with the other two. Inside was a large, open plan living area set along a main hall, each end leading to different parts of the house. There were patio doors opposite with a glimpse of pool and garden beyond, a generous kitchen island alongside the dining table – and a lounge area equipped with the exact same three-tiered cat tree Kit had in Vegas, along with a covered litterbox and a suite of gleaming bowls.

Surprised, Kent said, “I didn’t know you had a cat, too.”

“Oh, I don’t,” said Ari, setting down Kent’s bags. “But I figured you wouldn’t be able to bring all your cat stuff with you, so I checked what tree and stuff you had on your Instagram and got it all set up. Thought it might help your girl there get settled.”

As Kit began to wriggle, Kent set her down on the hardwood floor. She hunched for a moment, then beelined for the cat tree, tail flicking in elegant arcs as she sniffed the familiar-unfamiliar object. Kent straightened up and looked at Ari, disbelieving.

“You bought all this for her?” he asked. 

“Dude, it’s not a big deal,” said Ari. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we make kind of a lot of money. I’ve spent more on a round of drinks. Besides, the litterbox was a definite necessity.”

 _It’s not the money,_ Kent wanted to say. _It’s that you thought to do it at all._ But the words wouldn’t come, and all he could do was stare awkwardly at Ari for several seconds too long before finally managing to gulp out, “Uh. Where I should I put my stuff?”

“Oh! Sorry, it’s this way.” Ari picked up his other bags again and led him down the hall to the right, past two closed doors and another open living area – this one full of workout equipment – to a spare bedroom. “It’s all fresh sheets and stuff, I cleaned it out yesterday. Let me know if there’s anything you need, yeah?”

The room was bigger than the one in Kent’s old condo, but that was hardly surprising. There was a king bed with a nice wooden headboard and two bedside tables, a walk-in closet, a chest of drawers, a desk, an armchair; even a shelf and a wall-mounted TV, with a door that led to a small ensuite bathroom. It was clean and bright, and the bed looked comfortable.

Kent could’ve cried.

“Take your time getting settled in,” said Ari, leaning the bags against the wall. His voice was oddly gentle. “I’ll be out in the main lounge – come grab me whenever you’re ready, and I’ll give you a tour or whatever.”

“Sure,” said Kent. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No trouble,” said Ari, and headed back into the hall.

Kent let out a breath and sat down on the edge of the bed. _I’m here now. I’m fine. I’ll make this work._

_What other choice do I have?_


	3. Chapter 3

All things considered, Ari did his best to prepare himself for the advent of Kent Parson, Potentially Difficult Housemate and New Star Liney. The problem was that his best was an idiot: he couldn’t get a handle on the guy, and it was starting to drive him quietly nuts. In the nearly three weeks since Kent had moved in – for the entirety of training camp – they’d barely talked about anything other than hockey, and if not for the unmistakeable presence of Kit, who’d quickly learned that Ari was a new person she could yell at for food and attention, it would’ve been easy to forget that he had a housemate at all.

The difference between Kent-at-practice and Kent-at-home was so distinct, it gave Ari whiplash. On the ice, he was everything you’d hope for in a new star acquisition, slotting onto Ari’s wing like he’d always been there and developing the kind of seamless chemistry that made for highlight reel footage. He was diligent in training, had no trouble following Sheddy’s lead in the locker room, and if he ever felt the loss of the C on his chest or resentment at the A on Ari’s, he never showed any sign of it. He was especially good with the rookies and prospects – something Ari had initially worried about, given his former party-boy image and recent alcohol poisoning. Instead, he was calm and friendly enough to defuse the inevitable hero-worship from the youngest, newest players, happy to step in as a mentor figure without ever doing anything to undermine Sheddy or the other Aeros vets. He smiled for interviews, helped Rainbow practice his faceoffs, and in all respects acted like a model player and teammate.

And then they got in the car to go home, and he turned into a zombie.

Ari could almost time it now, how long it would take for Kent to switch off. Two miles out from the arena, he started to go blank, answering any questions in a flat, monosyllabic way like he’d just come off a losing shift in triple overtime. Four miles, and he often stopped responding at all – not rudely, Ari had realised, but like he was genuinely zoned out. He’d come back to himself a little once they made it home and even lit up to see Kit, who was almost doggishly pleased to see him in turn. They’d share the cooking, eat in silence or with the TV on low in the background, and then Kent would politely excuse himself to his room, and that would be it. No drinks, no hanging out, no games or casual conversation – nothing.

Which: it wasn’t like Ari had been yearning to relive his own rookie roommate days with a stranger, but it was starting to unnerve him, how absent Kent was in the house. It would’ve been somehow easier if Kent had abstained from all Aeros social activities, but despite begging off meeting Sheddy and the guys his first day in town – and who could blame him for that? – he’d come along to drinks at least once a week. He was never ebullient, but he’d nurse a couple of beers, speak if he was spoken to, pay for rounds and help prod the shyer rookies into talking about themselves. Nothing you could fault; nothing that would even raise an eyebrow if you didn’t also have Ari’s view of the aftermath, where his face closed up like a shop window the instant he was safely back in the car or house.

And under it all, the mystery of the trade itself: why had Kent left the Aces in the first place? One bad night of drinking hardly seemed a sufficient explanation, hospitalisation notwithstanding, and if that event had been the culmination of some terrible boil, it had left no trace that Ari or anyone else in the Aeros could see. There was only Kent, who skated and smiled and played beautiful hockey like his life was perfect, and then came home and hid like he didn’t have one. 

Ari was a pretty patient guy, all things considered, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing Kent somehow; that he was being a bad host, or a bad teammate, or a bad _something_. Either way, he wanted to get it sorted out before the start of the regular season, because Kent was going to have a much harder time retreating into whatever headspace was occupying his evenings once they were on the road, and if poking this particular bear was going to result in a blowup, Ari would rather do it now, with metaphorical home ice advantage and the preseason buffer to work through any fallout, than when they’d be stuck together in a plane or hotel room for hours.

As the last day of training camp came to an end and the Aeros hit the showers, plans were already being made for a night out, both to welcome the rookies who’d made the cut and to celebrate the imminent start of the preseason. Ari kept a sharp eye on Kent as Rainbow asked him if he’d be coming out with them, completely unsurprised by his pleasantly noncommittal response. Kent had already come to the bar with the team earlier in the week; Ari would’ve been shocked if he’d been enthused to go a second time. But rather than spook him in front of a crowd, he waited until they were showered and dressed and out in the car – just pulling out of the parking lot, before Zombie Kent could materialise – to make his move.

“So,” he said, trying hard not to sound like an awkward dad talking to his teenage son about prom. “You think you’ll come out with the boys tonight?”

“Probably not,” said Kent. He smiled as he said it, but the smile was thin as cheap paint and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Want to save my energy for the season, you know.”

Ari considered his next words carefully. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but, uh. Do you have a problem with me?”

Kent looked genuinely startled. “What? Why would I?”

“That’s not a no.”

“I don’t have a problem with you,” Kent said, bewildered. “Shit, dude, you’ve put me up, you’ve pampered Kit, you play awesome hockey – what the hell could I have to complain about?”

“I don’t know,” said Ari. “It’s just… you don’t seem to like hanging out with me. At home, or whatever. And that’s not – you’re allowed to spend time by yourself, obviously, but we’re gonna be sharing a room on the road, and if there’s something I’m doing that’s bugging you, I’d rather know now so we can work around it.”

“Oh,” said Kent. He hunched in his seat like a guilty kid. “That’s not… I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m just.” He made an odd little gulping noise, and when he looked up again his face was strained. “I’m just so fucking tired, man. I spend all day trying to be good for people, trying to make this work, but once we’re done I just can’t keep it up.” He grimaced and braced himself, jaw tight. “But I’ll try, if you want me to.”

Horrified on a level he couldn’t articulate, Ari shook his head. “Jesus, Parse. That’s not what I want. I want you to be actually happy, not just to act like it for me.” And then, because he needed to understand and felt weirdly hurt by the prospect, “Is it really so bad here? I thought you were getting along with the other guys, at least – just taking your time with the social stuff.”

Kent swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

“Parse –”

“It’s not your fault. Not anyone’s fault,” Kent said in a rush. “I’m just. Coming here, it was – I never expected – but I’m trying, I won’t let anyone down on the ice, I _won’t_ –”

“I’m not worried about you letting us down on the ice,” said Ari, who was starting to feel a sort of nameless panic about it all. “I’m worried about _you_ , Kent. I don’t like the idea that you’ve been holed up in my spare room feeling like shit every night because I was too dumb to know how to make you feel better, you know? I want to _help_.”

Kent stared at him, grey-green eyes huge in his face, and then looked away. “I’m not sure this is something you can fix,” he said, softly. “Maybe with time I’ll feel better, or whatever the fuck it is people say after big shitty life things happen, but right now, it just feels like this is me. Like it’ll always be me. Like maybe it always was.”

Tentatively, not sure he was crossing a line by talking about the elephant in the room, Ari asked, “You didn’t ask for a trade?”

Kent flinched. “It’s complicated. I mean.” He ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “I don’t know how the fuck to answer that question, you know? I was captain, I thought I was doing good, then some shit happened and it wasn’t… I couldn’t stay any more. Or I mean, I guess I could’ve tried to, but it would’ve still been like this, or worse. It’s not that I didn’t want to come _here_ , specifically; it’s that I didn’t want shit to change, but it did, and I can’t walk it back, and now I’m stuck with it.”

“That’s… a lot, and also rough,” said Ari, tamping down on a wildly inappropriate urge to say _you can trust me, tell me what happened, you clearly need to talk about this,_ because even though it was true, he had no idea what sort of shit Kent was dealing with or how much help he could really be, depending on what the problem was. Absent any details, he was developing a nebulous antipathy towards the city of Las Vegas in general and the Aces in particular, but that wasn’t helpful to either of them.

 _Helpful. Right. I’m trying to be helpful._ “Do you, uh… is there a friend, an old teammate maybe, who you can talk to about all this?”

Kent tensed up instantly. “No.”

 _Well, fuck._ “I’m sorry,” Ari said, stupidly.

“Talking won’t help,” said Kent, firmly enough that Ari didn’t think that calling bullshit would advance the conversation any. “I’ve just gotta get my shit together. Focus on hockey. Fuck, half the problem is how much downtime I have right now. Once the season starts, I’ll be too busy to feel like this.”

 _Being busy isn’t the same as fixing the problem. You know that, right?_ Ari thought, but didn’t say. He had a sudden flashback to his mom gently advising him to see a sports psychologist during his own stressful rookie year – which he’d done, albeit grudgingly at first, and which had helped – but didn’t think Kent would appreciate hearing him say so. Getting most players to even acknowledge mental health as an issue was like – well, not pulling teeth, because hockey players did that a lot – giving thoughtful quotes to the media, maybe – but getting them to think of it as something that mattered beyond its relevance to the game was even harder. Ari was no expert, but whatever issues Kent was having seemed to fall on the non-hockey side of things, and he had no faith that his limited store of non-hockey-but-hockey-adjacent life advice would transfer over to him.

Ari thought for a moment more, then took a breath and spoke.

“All right. Listen. I don’t know what you’re dealing with, but I do know that isolating yourself all the time when you’re feeling like shit doesn’t help. Nobody expects you to be Media Kent when you’re out with the team, and nobody’s gonna pester you to spill your life story if you don’t feel like talking – or if they do, I’ll tell them to shut the fuck up and mind their manners. Maybe you feel like there’s no point getting comfy in Houston, because you’re in a contract year and you might not be here next season. Maybe you’re not used to us yet, or maybe I’m just talking out of my ass, which would hardly be the first time.” He grinned, and was overwhelmingly relieved when Kent’s lips twitched in response. “But you’re here now, and however that happened, the Aeros are happy to have you. So, like. Clearly you’ve needed some space, and that’s fine. But we want you to hang out with us, and I wanna spend time with you. And if you’re ever really bushed, you can tell me to fuck off, but you’re allowed to feel tired and shitty where people can see you, you know? We’re not gonna judge you for it.”

Kent laughed shakily. “Is this your way of saying I should come to drinks tonight?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

Kent gave a wondering shake of his head and smiled. Ari had thought he’d seen Kent smile before now, but was hit with the sudden realisation that none of those smiles had been real; not the way this one was. Kent’s other smile – his fake smile – was all toothy and Instagram perfect, like he’d practiced it in front of a mirror; this one was warm and crooked, crinkling the edges of his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s working.” As if to remind them both that they were still hockey players and therefore contractually allergic to sincere, non-sports feelings, Kent followed this up by punching Ari’s shoulder. “Asshole.”

“Asshole yourself,” said Ari. “Also, the first round’s on you.”

“I knew it! You just want me for my money.”

“You got me,” Ari deadpanned. “I’m a gold-digging scoundrel.”

Kent laughed. “You’d make a terrible puck bunny.”

“True. It’s how I ended up as a player.”

“Oh my god,” Kent said, and buried his face in his hands. He was shaking with laughter, and when he straightened and tipped his head back, the sun through the window poured a line of golden light along his throat, highlighting the brightness of his hair.

In that moment, Ari had two concurrent epiphanies. The first was that, having gone three weeks without properly seeing Kent laugh, his wanted to make it happen again, as often and deeply as possible.

The second was that he was beautiful.

As Kent, now diverted from zombie mode, took the unprecedented step of grabbing the aux cord and plugging it into his phone, saying that the moment called for “actual music from this decade, Paxer, I’m sick of your nineties indie shit,” Ari gripped the wheel and had several silent words with himself about his frankly appalling taste in men. He’d known he was bi since juniors and was nominally out as such to the Aeros core – and to management, for that matter, who’d been surprising chill about the whole thing once they’d seen him score a hatty with his then-boyfriend in attendance – but he hadn’t been genuinely attracted to a teammate since before the draft and would much rather keep it that way.

 _No_ , he told himself firmly, refusing to be charmed by Kent lip-synching to Taylor Swift. _He’s ten pounds of issues in a five-pound bag, he’s your linemate, and he lives with you. Absolutely not._

“Thanks, Ari,” Kent said, soft and sudden. “I… thanks.”

“Anytime,” Ari said faintly.

_Fuck._


	4. Chapter 4

It shouldn’t have been possible for one awkward conversation to have made Kent feel that much better, but it had, and he did, and even after the subsequent evening of drinks with the Aeros went well, he still didn’t know how to process it. It wasn’t as if he’d told Ari any real details, but the fact that someone else knew he wasn’t completely okay and didn’t expect him to pretend otherwise or spill his guts was more than he’d anticipated. Lying in bed that night with Kit tucked into the crook of his knees, his stomach churned as his thoughts buzzed with questions. _Can I trust this? Do I want to?_ And then, most devastatingly, _Either way, what’s the point?_

Kent pressed his face to the pillow and breathed, his eyes squeezed shut. That was the real heart of things, and the reason why it hurt so much to try and fit in at training camp. He could gel as well with the Aeros as he had with the Aces, put up as many points per season – hell, they might even win a cup if he stuck around. But none of that mattered if management decided he was more trouble than he was worth; if he slipped up and gave them a reason to send him on again. _What, like you’ve ever been special?_ his thoughts snarled at him. _Hardly anyone goes their whole career without being traded; there’s plenty of guys getting bounced around all the fucking time, guys with wives and kids and families they actually like – guys who make far less money than you – and you’re lying here feeling sad because you were traded_ once _, because of something_ you did _?_

It made him feel shitty and sick and shameful, that he’d given so little thought before now to the emotional aspect of trades; the insecurity of knowing you could wake up any day and find yourself sent thousands of miles away because the big boss liked you less than the other guy.

 _They_ always _liked you less, you idiot_. Kent dug his fingers into the mattress, a futile attempt to anchor himself against the truth. _You were just dumb enough to think you could change their minds._

Ari had said that the Aeros wanted him, and that was true enough, he supposed – for now. He didn’t think it would last, but if the rest of the NHL could handle being traded without making their new teammates worry they were soulless freaks off the ice, then Kent would just have to man up and deal with it. And as for the other thing…

 _No,_ he told himself sharply. _You don’t deserve it, so it doesn’t matter._

Sleep was a long time coming, after that.


	5. Chapter 5

If you weren’t a rookie, Ari reflected, preseason was weird. It had all the look and feel of the regular season – same arenas, same teams, same game-day routines – except all the baby players were out in force, and the refs had a vague sense of humour. They were fun games, but Ari couldn’t shake the feeling that it was sneaky fun, somehow; like he was meant to be more serious or jaded about the whole thing than he actually was. Maybe he’d feel differently in a couple of years, when he was old enough for the trainers to start talking load management and he’d had a bodypart or two crap out on him at a crucial point in the season, but right now, he was in his prime and childishly disappointed not to be playing in the preseason opener.

“Weirdo,” said Kent, when Ari told him this. It was two days since their car conversation: two days in which Kent had done more than eat dinner with Ari and skulk in his room, and was yet to relapse to his zombie-self. Case in point, he was currently making them breakfast smoothies before they headed to the Toyota Centre for their official-unofficial start-of-the-season briefing ahead of morning skate, making small talk and everything. “Preseason is preseason. You’ve gotta let the babies have their time in the spotlight.”

“I know that,” said Ari, pausing as the blender whirred loudly. “It’s just, you know. It’s hockey. If there’s a game on, I wanna be playing.”

Kent laughed, handing him a kale-and-something smoothie. “Fair.”

“Unfair. They’ll probably play you more than me, just ‘cos you’re new.”

“Hey, if you wanna trade places, be my guest.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” said Ari, sipping his smoothie. It actually tasted pretty good. “You’re my winger; I’d rather play with you.”

Kent looked briefly startled; then he smiled, the rare real smile that made Ari need to have stern words with certain parts of his anatomy. “Same,” he said.

Refusing to preen at this, Ari downed the rest of his smoothie as Kent was distracted by Kit, who sensed the bipeds were leaving and had come to demand compensatory pats. By the time they were out in the car, the moment had passed, and Ari was able to function like a sensible adult. 

On the drive to the arena, Kent once again claimed dominion over the aux cord. He scrolled through his music for several moments, tongue poking out as he concentrated, presumably, on making his selection.

“Pitter-patter,” Ari chirped.

Kent flipped him off with one hand and made his selection with the other. “Just for that, we’re listening to classic Britney.”

Ari laughed, thinking he was joking, then laughed again when the opening chords of Hit Me Baby One More Time came blaring through the speakers. Kent shot him a defiant look, prompting Ari to briefly lift his hands off the wheel in surrender.

“Hey, far be it from me to disrespect Ms Spears.”

“And don’t you forget it,” said Kent, sitting back with a satisfied thump.

They bantered back and forth for the rest of the drive, trading chirps about music and other safe topics. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Ari was grinning so much his face was starting to hurt, while Kent looked as relaxed as he’d been since arriving in Houston. Relaxed was a good look on him; mostly because he looked good, period, but also – as Ari was self-aware enough to grudgingly acknowledge – because the contrast between a relaxed Kent and a tense Kent pinged what Ari’s sports psychologist had called his “caretaker instinct”.

 _There’s nothing wrong with making people happy,_ he told himself, and virtuously didn’t stare at Kent’s ass as he got out of the car.

As they made their way from the lot to the briefing room, Ari was suddenly bodychecked sideways by a cackling Rainbow, who’d managed to sneak up on him.

“Hah!” crowed the rookie, dodging Ari’s retaliatory head-swipe. “Too slow, Paxer!”

“If you’re looking for a leprechaun, try Parse,” said Ari, wrestling Rainbow into a playful headlock. “He’s short enough to pass for one.”

“Fuck you,” said Kent, turning to watch the spectacle. “Good things come in small packages.”

“I don’t wanna hear about Parse’s small package,” Rainbow panted, wriggling free of Ari’s hold. He popped back up again, grinning and dishevelled, and ran a hand through his messy dark flow. “No offence, Parse.”

“None taken,” Kent said dryly.

Shooting fingerguns at the pair of them, Rainbow bounded off ahead, for all the world like a rambunctious, six-foot puppy. Ari rolled his eyes and resumed a normal walking pace alongside Kent.

“Fucking teenagers, Christ. You remember being nineteen, Parse?”

“Not voluntarily.”

Ari laughed, and a beat later so did Kent, though the sound came out slightly forced, which was… odd. Cursing internally, Ari made a note to check if something bad had happened during Kent’s sophomore season – _no, his_ rookie _season,_ he realised abruptly, _he’s born in July and the draft’s in June._ Which meant he’d turned nineteen not long after he won the Calder, and had still been nineteen when the Aces won the cup the following season. Which… huh. That _was_ odd. A few days ago, Ari would’ve put it down to reflexive sarcasm and Kent’s general weirdness; now, he wondered if it was another piece in the Kent-getting-traded puzzle, that he closed up after being casually asked about what should’ve been, by all external measurements, the best year of his life.

Still chewing on the thought as they entered the briefing room, Ari sat down next to Kent and gave him a friendly elbow-bump, relieved when Kent bumped him back. Not too much damage done, then. Already seated two rows behind them, Rainbow pegged a rolled-up ball of tape at the back of Ari’s head; Ari snagged it as it rolled down his shoulder, contemplated it as a diver would a defective pearl, then proffered it on his open palm to Kent. Kent raised his eyebrows, grinned a speculative grin, then took the ball and lobbed it expertly at Sheddy, sitting off to the side in the row ahead. It made a soft _thap!_ as it hit the back of his head and dropped into the hood of his Aeros sweatshirt.

Like magic, Sheddy turned, glaring comically as he fished behind him for the tape-ball. His gaze skipped over Kent and Ari entirely, then landed on Rainbow, who was misfortunate enough to already have a second tape-ball visibly in hand. Rainbow opened his mouth to protest, then shut it when Sheddy said, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “Rainbow’s on puck retrieval duty today, boys!”

The whole room rippled with laughter. Rainbow slouched sulkily back in his seat, but any response he might’ve made was forestalled by the arrival of Coach Roycroft, tailed by the rest of the coaching staff, two trainers, Eva The PR Lady (whom Ari was incapable of thinking of in lowercase) and her baby PR intern, Kae.

“Lights on, curtain up,” Ari murmured, and had just enough time to register Kent’s answering snort before the briefing began.

Now that he was wearing an A, Ari felt dutybound to pay full attention during briefings, though he’d never been great at retaining spoken information without a visual component. It left him in the uncomfortable position of trying so hard to remember something that he often missed what came directly after it, and so he lost all awareness of Kent as he chewed his lip and leaned on his thighs and tried very hard to absorb Roycroft’s message for the team, the reminder about which rules had changed over the offseason, the confirmation of who’d be playing in the preseason opener that night (not him, though Kent would be out there) and what felt like thirty other things. By the time Roycroft ceded the podium to Eva The PR Lady, Ari had broken out in a light sweat.

“Hey,” Kent murmured, nudging him over the armrest. “Don’t strain yourself thinking too hard.”

“I’ve never thought hard in my life,” Ari said, and resumed his forced attentiveness as Eva The PR Lady outlined the kind of publicity, charity and other outreach events the Aeros had planned for the season thus far. She finished up by reminding them all that the third annual mothers’ trip was happening at the end of October, and would any new players or rookies who hadn’t already done so please give their mothers’ contact details to Kae, in case they were called up during the trip. Ari made a mental note to remind his own mother of the trip dates – she’d probably ask for them soon anyway – and then the briefing was done, which meant it was time for morning skate. Stretching his arms, Ari stood and ambled out after Kent, who – like most of the Aeros – was beelining for the door.

Reaching his side as they passed back into the hallway, Ari was about to venture a back-to-school joke when Kae came running up to them. “Kent! Kent, sorry – can I grab you for a moment?”

Kent stopped, and Ari stopped with him out of habit. Kent said nothing, which was a little surprising, but clearly Kae was happy enough to go first, as she barrelled on with, “It’ll only take a moment, but I don’t have any details for your mom, for the mothers’ trip?”

Kent’s fake smile was strained. “Neither do I. She left when I was eight.”

Kae blushed bright red. “Oh! Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, I just – I didn’t think, uh –” she shoved a strand of hair behind her ear, French tips shining, “– but, um, it doesn’t have to be your _mom_ -mom, like it can be an aunt or a grandma, or just an important woman in your life, someone who helped raise you –”

“I don’t have anyone,” Kent said softly. He was visibly tense and miserable, not meeting her eyes as he stared at somewhere off to the left, and Ari’s stomach twisted with how powerless he was to make this stop.

Mortified, Kae bit her lip, clearly at a loss for what to say. “Um –”

“Will it be a problem for the club? If no-one shows up for me?”

Kae looked vaguely shocked. “Of course not! I mean. It’s meant to be a mothers’ trip, but, uh – I’d have to check with Eva, but if you wanted to ask your dad instead –”

“ _No_ ,” said Kent, so fast and vehement that Kae and Ari were both taken aback. He was trembling, Ari was appalled to realise, cheeks stained red as his hands clenched into fists. Kent swallowed hard, mastering himself, then said more measuredly, “Sorry. I just… I’d prefer not to involve him, if that’s an option. So long as the Aeros don’t mind if I’m unrepresented, that’s not an issue for me.”

One beat of terrible silence. Two. Then:

“That’ll be fine,” said Kae, gently. “There’s no attendance requirement for players; we just wanted to make sure you had the option.”

“Thank you,” said Kent, and looked away from Kae’s attempt at a parting smile, eyes fixed on the carpet until she was gone from view.

Ari wanted to hug him. Ari didn’t dare. But he couldn’t just leave him standing there like that, so he took a risk and put a hand on Kent’s shoulder, squeezing a little. Kent jumped at the contact, as if startled to find that Ari was still present. Every line of his body screamed how much he didn’t want to talk about what had just happened, and so Ari quashed his traitorous curiosity and said, as normally as possible, “So. You looking forward to having Rainbow as your preseason centre?”

A whirl of emotions crossed Kent’s face, then vanished behind a mask as he started to head for the locker room. “Baby centres are universally terrible,” he deadpanned. “It is known.”

“Is that a Game of Thrones reference? That sounds like a Game of Thrones reference.”

“What, like you’re too good for a show with dragons?”

“Are you kidding? Dragons are fucking sick as hell; I just didn’t figure you for a fantasy fan.”

Kent snorted, a ghost of real humour flitting across his lips. “The things you don’t know about me could fill a book.”

 _Yeah,_ thought Ari, suppressing a worried frown. _They really could._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning in the endnotes.

Like every team in the NHL, the Aeros had a behind-the-scenes, webseries-slash-TV show-slash-PR channel with which to document their season, players and general team personality. Back in Vegas, the Aces had the imaginatively named Aces TV; in Houston, the equivalent show was called Aerospace. Kent would have to appear on it sooner or later, but maybe (he hoped) his awful conversation with Kae would yield him a brief reprieve from further PR duties. That was always assuming, of course, that Kae was right and no-one was going to demand he produce a mother figure – or worse yet, his dad – to attend the October roadie. Shoving that unpleasant prospect deep in a mental box, he concentrated on lacing his skates and avoiding more thrown tape-balls from Rainbow, who’d evidently decided that, as he was already being punished, he might as well go all-in.

Stepping onto the ice was like coming up for air after a deep dive. Hockey wiped him clean of everything else, the way it always had. There was only the puck and the thrill of motion; the deep satisfaction of doing the thing he was best at to the best of his ability. In anticipation of the evening’s game, the rookies – and Kent, who counted as one for the purpose – scrimmaged against the Aeros vets, which led to Kent playing against Ari. He’d done it before as an Ace, of course, but team scrimmaging was different; there was more friendly chirping, more awareness that the guy across from you was someone you wanted to beat, but not humiliate. As they took a faceoff against each other, Ari flashed him a grin that was almost distracting enough to make Kent give up the puck. As it was, he won it back to Rainbow, who passed it to Vibby, who made a break up ice and nearly got it to Kent again before Viking checked him and stole it back.

The game was fun and frenetic, and when Roycroft finally called time, the rookies had won 5-4, thanks in no small part to two wicked wristers from Kent. Jostling, chirping and laughing, the team headed off to the dressing room – but when Kent set foot in the tunnel, he found Eva, the boss PR lady, waiting there in ambush.

His elation died as she called his name, replaced by a cold, sinking dread. He thunked over to her, uncomfortably aware of how cartoonishly oversized his skates and armour made him look alongside a regular person. “Yeah?”

Grey eyes serious behind thin glasses, Eva said, “Kent, I want to sincerely apologise for Kae’s actions earlier. I’d given her no instructions to seek you out specifically; she was meant to wait for the players to come to her, but she decided to take the initiative without consulting me. Her putting you in that position was unacceptable, and I wanted you to know that we take it seriously. If you want to make a formal complaint, I’d be happy to –”

“No!” Kent blurted, mortified at the prospect. “No, god, it’s not her fault my family’s all fucked up, she didn’t know.”

Eva looked startled. “That’s not how I’d, ah… are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Kent said hastily. “Please, she was just trying to do her job, I don’t want her to get in trouble. Just.” He took a breath, trying to calm himself. “Just – it’s okay that nobody comes for me? It’s not going to be a problem?”

“It’s not going to be a problem,” Eva said, looking genuinely wrongfooted. “In any case, I wanted to assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“Thanks,” said Kent, looking longingly at the dressing room. “Do you, uh – do you mind if I go now, or was there something else?”

“No, that’s it,” said Eva. Kent mumbled more thanks and hurried off, skates clomping on the carpet. He imagined he could feel her eyes on him even once he was around the corner, stomach twisting anxiously as he stripped off his gear and headed for the showers. He wanted a soak, but felt too exposed to linger, and so was in a state of antsy frustration when he caught up with Ari, who was waiting for him by the locker room door.

“You all right?” Ari asked, voice pitched gratifyingly low. “I saw Eva snagged you back there.”

“It’s fine,” Kent said, then remembered that he didn’t have to lie to Ari. _Not about this, at least._ He huffed a breath and amended, “I mean. I don’t _feel_ fine, but it _is_ fine, I guess? Like, she apologised, but also wanted me to make a report about Kae, which, no, come on; I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why not, though?” asked Ari, more curious than judgemental. “I mean, she’s a nice kid, but she definitely messed up.”

Kent shrugged, frustrated with the whole issue. “Yeah, but she knew it right away. She won’t do it again. That’s enough for me.”

They stepped out of the airconditioned hall and into the Houston heat, which was barely humid by local standards but still stickier than Kent was used to. The conversation ceased as they made their way to the car, a silence that felt more like a pause than a true cessation. It itched at Kent as Ari turned the key in the ignition; itched at him as they pulled out of the lot, until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“You haven’t asked,” he said in a rush. “About anything. Any of the weird shit I’ve done or said since I got here, you haven’t asked.”

Ari glanced at him sidelong, his wet hair falling into his eyes. He absently looped the damp, dark strands behind his ear and shrugged, eyes fixed on the road. “It didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it.”

“I don’t,” said Kent.

“Exactly.”

A frustrating beat of silence followed. Kent was annoyed and didn’t know why, and couldn’t tell if it was more at himself or at Ari. “You should want to know, though. If I was you, I’d want to know.”

“I do want to know,” said Ari, maddeningly calm. “But I also don’t wanna make shit worse for you by poking where I’m not wanted. If you want to tell me stuff, I’m happy to listen, but if you don’t, I’m not gonna be an asshole and press just because I’m curious.”

Kent chewed on that for a moment. He felt oddly, nihilistically brave, in the sense that he was too tired to care anymore; either that, or he’d decided to take self-sabotage to a new level. He examined the impulse for few seconds more, then swallowed and said, “My dad used to beat my mom. And me, too, once she was gone. It’s why she left.”

“Shit, Kent,” said Ari. “That’s awful.”

Kent shrugged, staring out the window so he wouldn’t have to see Ari’s expression. “It is what it is. Just. The Aces always have a dads trip, right? And I was their _star player_ –” he snorted at the irony, “– and management always said I had to invite him and deal with it when he showed up, or it’d make extra work for the club, make them look bad in the press, because if they’d lied and said he couldn’t make it, he would’ve complained and said they were keeping him away from me, isolating me or whatever. So unless I wanted to do a press conference and explain it myself, then he had to come. Every year.” He laughed bitterly, hands clenched into fists of his own accord.

“The fuck? That’s so fucked up!” said Ari, furious.

“You’re the first one to think so. I mean.” He laughed again, or made a sound that could almost pass for laughter. “It’s not like I ever told my teammates why I hated him being there, but he’s always so charming with everyone, they’d think I was being a spoiled brat about it. Like, _oh, look at poor Kent Parson, so ungrateful for everything his dad did even though he went first overall_ , like they’d ever have taken me first if Jack hadn’t–”

He stopped, mouth snapping shut on the sentence. He was breathing too loudly, pulse racing like he was back on the ice.

“But management knew?” Ari said, ignoring Kent’s slip. “They knew he hurt you, and they forced you to have him there anyway?”

“Yeah,” said Kent. “I guess it’s different here, though.”

“You never should’ve had to deal with that,” said Ari, sounding equal parts pissed and distraught. “Jesus, that’s fucked up on so many levels.”

If Kent had known how flustered and warm and _seen_ he’d feel by Ari’s reaction, he wouldn’t have had the courage to speak in the first place. As it was, his cheeks burned as a knot in his chest went loose in one way, tight in another. It left him feeling unmoored, yet also perversely desperate to keep talking, half to see where Ari’s sympathy would run out and half in hope that it wouldn’t.

“When my mom left,” Kent said, and stopped again, hardly able to believe the words were there. He’d never told this story to anyone and felt more than a little terrified that he was doing so now, on so little provocation. Faltering, he said, “When she left, she wanted to take me with her. It was. There was this week where lots of stuff went wrong, and my dad… it was bad. And my mom never said outright that we were going, but she got out both our suitcases, she asked me which of my toys I liked best, and we had this talk, this talk about hockey, how much it cost to for me to play, and would I understand if I couldn’t play for a little bit, or if I had to change teams. And I told her I understood. And I did. I really did.”

He was shaking again, he realised dimly, and gripped the edge of the seat for purchase. He couldn’t look at Ari, or he wouldn’t be able to get it out, the memory shuddering through him with a violence all the greater for how long he’d shoved it down.

“That night, I woke up because there was shouting. Breaking sounds. Voices. I was too scared to go out of my room, but I went to the edge of the door and saw them in the next room. My mom was on the ground. I think she was bleeding, like my dad had thrown a glass or a plate or something and it had cut her, but I couldn’t… I just watched them, and my dad said to her, he said, _if you want to fucking go, go now and don’t come back. But if you try to take Kent, I swear to god, I’ll find you and kill you both._ And I didn’t hear what she said to that, but I know she said something, because he hit her for it –” he choked, the remembered sound of the blow as visceral now as then, “– and he said something I didn’t hear either, but she got up fast, and he threw her things at her, her purse and stuff, and she grabbed them and ran for the door, and that was it. And I never saw her again.” 

His eyes were wet; he scrubbed an angry hand across them, a welling grief in his chest. He felt raw and wrong and broken, but before he could transmute the feeling into action, Ari leaned across the car and pulled him into a hug. Kent had a moment of sheer panic – weren’t they still on the road!? – before he realised they were parked in Ari’s driveway in River Oaks. He had no idea how long the car had been stopped and didn’t care; just leaned as much into the contact as his seatbelt would allow. Ari made a frustrated sound and reached down for the belt release. The belt snapped up between them, and Kent laughed at the absurdity of having to pull back from the hug to disentangle himself. He caught Ari’s gaze as he straightened up, then promptly looked away; the kindness of it was too much. He pressed his forehead into Ari’s shoulder, struggling to get his breathing under control as Ari squeezed an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Kent said, embarrassment taking the place of grief. He pulled back, both relieved and disappointed when Ari let him go. “Didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” said Ari, and likely would’ve said more, but Kent was too overwhelmed to listen and got straight out of the car, hurrying up to the door. He had his own key, could’ve easily gone in ahead of Ari and hid in his room, but he was either too brave or too cowardly for that, and so waited on the doorstep like a miscreant home after curfew, head down and hands shoved in his pockets. Ari inhaled as he reached his side, but unlocked the door without saying anything, waiting until they were both inside to once more put a hand on Kent’s shoulder and say, with killing gentleness, “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but like. It means something, that you trusted me to hear it.”

Ari’s hand was summer-hot, in danger of burning a hole through the sleeve of Kent’s hoodie. He didn’t know what to say in response; he’d used up all his words in the car, and now felt like he’d been emptied out.

“Gonna, uh,” he managed. “Gonna go have another shower.” And then, because Ari deserved at least a little reassurance that Kent wasn’t about to revert to his antisocial gremlin self, “Lunch after?”

“Sure,” said Ari, and when he pulled his hand away, Kent felt the loss in every inch of skin he hadn’t touched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: description of past physical abuse of Kent and his mother by his dad.


	7. Chapter 7

Ari was a grown-ass professional athlete, a decent housemate and a better friend and teammate. As such, he did not vent his many and complex feelings about Kent’s personal history to Kent himself, nor did he do so while Kent was around to potentially overhear him. Instead, he waited until Kent had showered, eaten, napped, eaten again and finally headed back out to the arena in Ari’s car – the preseason opener was still preseason, and there was no pressing reason for him or anyone else not playing to watch from the team box instead of their couch – to have a small emotional crisis about the whole thing.

Finally alone, Ari thumped down on his sectional, briefly contemplated the ceiling, and then yelled, “AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGH!”. It did very little to make him feel better, but had the unintended side-effect of startling Kit, who scrambled frantically out of her cat tree and whipped past the coffee table, tail puffed up like a stick of white candy floss.

“Oh baby, baby, I’m sorry,” crooned Ari, dropping to his knees and extending an apologetic hand in Kit’s direction. She sniffed his fingertips, tail deflating slightly, then turned and hurtled off down the hall, presumably in search of a quieter sleeping place.

Groaning, Ari levered himself back onto the sectional and flopped his head on an armrest. After a moment, he fished his phone out of his pocket, thumbed through to his contacts list and called his mother, who answered on the third ring.

“Ari! You know, I was just going to call you and ask about the mothers’ trip. I’d swear I’d written the dates down but I can’t for the life of me think where.”

Ari grinned at the ceiling. “Hi, mom,” he said, and dutifully rattled off the details once his mother had found a pen.

“Thank you,” she said, when she’d finished scribbling. “Now, what else is happening in Houston? Entertain me, please; your father’s snoring up a storm in the good recliner and I can’t watch any TV until he wakes up again.”

Ari sighed. “Can we have one of those conversations where I talk about something I can’t actually tell you, and you give me advice?”

His mother’s voice softened instantly. “Go ahead, honey.”

“So, there’s a new, uh, person, working for the team. I’d been worried they didn’t like it here or were having a hard time fitting in, but today they told me some details about, uh, what happened at their last job, which tied into some other upsetting stuff they’ve had to deal with in the past, and it was just. It was a lot, but I get the sense there’s more that they haven’t told me, and I don’t want to push them or anything, but it seems like they really need to talk about it, only they don’t, uh… I don’t think they really have anyone to talk to. Like, at all.”

“Except you, it seems,” said his mother.

Ari shut his eyes. “Except for me, yeah. And it’s good, I think, that they trust me – I told them that, even – but I don’t know how to help.”

“Ari,” said his mother, using what he thought of as her Careful Voice, “am I right in assuming that this, ah, person, is someone for whom you’re developing certain feelings?”

Ari sat bolt upright in indignation. “Mom!”

“Is that a yes?”

“Mom, what the _fuck_?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, and laughed at whatever inarticulate noise he made in response. “Ari, sweetheart, I love you dearly and always will, but you have a _type_.”

“You take that back!”

“I will not, and I’ve got the receipts to prove it.”

Ari sat up even straighter, eyes narrowed. “You’ve got _receipts_? Have you been using Twitter again? Who told you about _receipts_?”

“Your cousin Mallory,” his mother said. “She came and helped me clean out my wardrobe – she wanted some of my old things to wear, apparently they’re retro now –”

“Oh my god,” Ari said faintly.

“– and it came up in conversation, which is rather _beside the point_ , Ari. You have a _type_ , and if you don’t know that already, it’s my motherly duty to tell you.”

“I do not have a type,” Ari protested weakly.

There was a sound like his mother had shifted the phone, and when she started to speak again he knew, on a bone-deep level, that she was physically ticking off names on her fingers. “There was Kacey, when you were twelve; you asked me endless questions about how to make a new girl at school feel welcome, and then you were heartbroken when she took some other boy to a dance. You spent weeks learning about turtles in middle school because Cassidy Fairbrook liked them and nobody else did, and then you dated for oh, two months? Which was a pretty long time at that age. And then there was that boy on your juniors team, Braedon… Tanner, was it? Braedon something, whose father had passed away, and you wanted so badly to make him feel happy it was all you could talk about except hockey, and then I found the two of you feeling _very_ happy on the pool table –” 

“I will literally pay you to stop talking,” Ari begged.

“– and then there was Melody your second pro year, remember?” his merciless mother continued. “You met because her car broke down and you gave her a lift and paid for the repairs because she couldn’t afford them, and _then_ –” more phone shifting sounds as she reached the end of her terrible list, “– there was dear Colton and his lost dog – he seems to be doing well in Phoenix, by the way. We still keep in touch on Facebook.”

“Of course you do,” said Ari, feeling rather as though he’d just been bag-skated. “You know, I’m perfectly capable of caring about people in a non-romantic context.”

“I know that, honey,” his mother said. “But there’s a certain tone you have when you talk about the romantic ones, so I thought I ought to ask.”

Ari thought wistfully of the time, not long ago, when he hadn’t been having this conversation. “The next time you see Mallory, ask her to tell you what _read for filth_ means.” 

“I’ll make a note of it,” his mother said dryly. “Now, I know you don’t need me to tell you that being nice to someone doesn’t mean they owe you a relationship –” _Not anymore,_ thought Ari, wincing at his pubescent approach to wooing Kacey, “– but in this case, it sounds like the best thing you can do is help this person build a new support network in Houston. Not just your friends, mind, but friends of their own, because in the event that you _do_ want to make them aware of any feelings you may or may not have, you don’t want to put them in the position of choosing between romance and their only solid friendship if they’re not on the same page as you.”

It was good advice. Ari sighed. “Thanks, mom, but it’s not… this isn’t a situation where, uh, acting on anything I might feel would be a good idea.”

“Ari, my sweet firstborn fool, you play professional sports for a living. You chose your dream job as a literal child – a job that involves ice and fighting and very sharp skate blades, and also a fairly high risk of traumatic injuries – and it cost a lot for us to invest in for you, with no real promise you could ever make it to the NHL. Objectively, none of it was a good idea, but here you are making millions doing the thing you love, so who are either of us to say bad ideas aren’t worth trying anyway, if the reward is right?”

“Jesus,” Ari said. “That’s… certainly one way to look at it.” But he still laughed.

“You want me to talk you out of it?” His mother’s raised eyebrow was practically audible. “Want me to tell you to sit on your hands and do nothing?”

“Mom, I don’t even know if this person likes men.”

“Granted, that’s a fair obstacle. But you’ve never shot your bow at someone who was fundamentally disinclined to shoot back, so who knows?”

“Not that I’ve told you about,” said Ari. “Believe me, I’ve been turned down plenty.”

“But not when it mattered,” his mother countered. “Not since Kacey, anyway, and not for that reason.”

“Mom –”

“I know, I know. I’ll leave it be. It’s just been a while since Colton, that’s all. I’m invested.”

Ari smiled. “I know. Love you, mom.”

“Love you too, honey.”

As the call ended, Ari dropped his phone on his chest and took a deep, steadying breath. He’d been trying not to wonder about Kent’s sexuality, partly because that would mean upgrading his own attraction from detached sexual fantasy to potential sexual and/or romantic interest, but mostly because, in addition to the high likelihood of his being straight, there was a non-zero chance of him being some flavour of homophobe. Now that the NHL had its first out player in the form of Jack Zimmerman, reigning Stanley Cup Champion, Ari had a perfect yardstick with which to gauge the potential hostility of new teammates, but he’d been hesitant to test out Kent before they’d gotten to know each other a little. It wasn’t just that Kent was his housemate; it was that the GM had personally asked Ari to help him acclimate to the Aeros, and while he’d had no pushback from management about his sexuality thus far, he didn’t want it to be the reason that their new star player ended up living in a hotel room and at odds with the veteran core.

Now, though, there was a new complication: he’d forgotten that Kent and Zimmerman played together in juniors. When Kent had brought up Jack in the car, he’d clammed up instantly, and Ari didn’t know what that said about their history, but if they were still friends now that Zimmerman was in the league, they evidently weren’t close enough for Kent to be confiding in him instead of Ari. Maybe they’d just drifted apart with time and distance from one another. Maybe Kent was a homophobe or Zimmerman was a jerk, or maybe they’d just had a blow-up argument back in the Q about some inconsequential teenage shit and never made up afterwards. Either way, Ari couldn’t just toss out Zimmerman’s name in conversation and hope to learn anything about Kent’s views on queerness unless he asked overtly, which was very much not what he wanted to do.

Which left him back at square one, and far more frustrated by the whole dumb scenario than he wanted to be.

“Ugh,” he muttered, and grabbed the TV remote off the coffee table. The game wouldn’t start for about another hour, but he got the channel set up, muted the sound, and went to grab himself a much-needed beer.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a few years since Kent had last played in a preseason opener, and he was surprised by how much fun he had. Despite his tape-throwing ways, Rainbow made for a decent baby centre, scoring two goals off sweet feeds from Kent to help the Aeros win 4-2 over the Dallas Stars. It hardly felt like a Dallas game without Jamie Benn trying to run him down or Tyler Seguin smirking at him over the faceoff dots, but Kent was happy to take the win regardless, and so was a little disappointed to realise that he wasn’t slated to play again until the last two preseason games, when most of the regular team would also be back in the lineup. That gave him the better part of a week, if not exactly off, then with more free time than he’d have for a while, and he had absolutely no idea how to spend it.

Mercifully spared any media duties – he suspected Eva’s hand in that – he showered, dressed and drove carefully back to the house, where Ari met him on the threshold, gave him a backslapping hug, and handed him a beer, all before Kent could process what was happening.

“You and Rainbow looked great out there!” said Ari, wandering into the lounge as Kent stared dumbly at the beer in his hand. “That work you did with him on faceoffs really paid off.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Kent, belatedly toeing off his shoes and heading over to the sectional. He sat down, still off-balance from the unexpected greeting.

“Sorry,” said Ari, grinning sheepishly as he gestured at Kent’s beer. “You don’t have to drink that if you’re not in the mood.”

“No, I will,” said Kent, and took a sip to prove it. “Thanks.”

“Did you see Rainbow’s postgame about you?”

Kent groaned. “No. Why, what’d he say?”

“He said, and I quote, _Parsy’s an absolute beauty_.”

“Parsy,” said Kent, disbelieving. “He called me _Parsy_?”

“He did,” said Ari. “Think it’ll catch on?”

“If it does, I’m putting toothpaste on his jock.” He took a disgusted sip of beer. “Fucking _Parsy_ , honestly.”

“To be fair, he did also call you a beauty.”

Kent snorted. “Rainbow calls everyone a beauty. Last week, he called a vending machine _pretty mint_ because it dropped two bags of Cheetos instead of one.”

Ari made a pained noise. “I’m too young to feel this old.”

“Mood, as the kids say.”

Ari threw a pillow at him. Kent laughed and threw one back. Ari put his beer down picked up one of the big couch cushions, and Kent had just enough time to get his own drink safely out of the way before Ari was swinging it at him.

“Fuck off!” Kent gasped, breathless with laughter as he grabbed his own weapon. As Ari’s second swing thumped him in the ribs, he dodged forwards and used his cushion as a battering ram, knocking Ari backwards onto the sectional. He went down with a yell, flailing wildly, and as Kent moved in to hit him again, Ari kicked out and tangled their legs together. Kent stumbled and fell onto Ari, who proceeded to try and wrestle him off again. Almost, Kent managed to pin Ari’s hand, but Ari was bigger and heavier than him, and heaved him off in a tumbling throw that sent them both crashing down between the sectional and the table, Kent’s head smacking against the thinly carpeted floor. Dizzy from more than the impact, Kent had just enough time to register the pinning weight of Ari’s body on his before it went away again, Ari sitting up sharply with his thighs on either side of Kent’s legs.

“Shit, are you all right?” asked Ari, still panting a little. His hair was mussed, his stretched-out shirt skewing half off his right shoulder. “You hit your head.”

Kent blinked dazedly at him, heart racing. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said, a beat too late.

“Let me see,” said Ari, wiggling back and clasping Kent’s arm to help him up in turn. Kent couldn’t breathe; he didn’t know what was happening, felt feverish and frightened all at once. He wanted to get up and run, but wasn’t sure his legs would hold him. Ari’s eyes were big and dark, but his hands were gentle as he helped Kent kneel, and gentler still as they tipped his head forwards, cradling him in place. Calloused fingers stroked soft lines against his skull, searching for bumps and tender spots.

“Does anything hurt?” asked Ari, voice tense with worry.

“No,” Kent managed. His throat was so thick it felt like he was choking. “No, nothing hurts.”

Ari gave a shaky laugh. “I can’t break you before the regular season even starts; coach’ll kill me.”

He let go of Kent and stood up, leaving Kent to watch, drymouthed, as he put the pillows back in place. After a moment, Kent realised he could move, _should_ move, and forced himself to stand. He reclaimed his beer – miraculously, neither of their drinks had spilled – and downed half the remainder in a single swallow. The cushions resettled, Ari grabbed his bottle and chinked it absently against Kent’s, gaze intent as he looked him over.

“Sorry,” he said, offering up a smile. “That was dumb of me. The last thing we need is you getting a concussion.”

Somehow, Kent managed to say, “I don’t think that was likely.”

“Still,” said Ari. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Kent, and finished the rest of his beer to cover for how out of his depth his felt. In a moment of inspired panic, he said, “Uh, I was actually thinking I should check out Houston this week, you know. See the sights. I’m not playing preseason again ‘till the last two games, so –”

“I can show you around, if you like,” said Ari. He looked almost hopeful, big and earnest and handsome with it, and even if he’d wanted to, Kent couldn’t have refused him.

“That’d be awesome,” he said instead. He rummaged around in his feelings and came up with a smile, and wondered if he was imagining the way Ari seemed to warm, however briefly, in response.

They made some more small talk after that, until Kent’s body remembered he’d played a hockey game not long ago and needed to rest up. Ari accepted his goodnights with a slap on the arm and a promise to take him somewhere cool tomorrow, and Kent wandered off to brush his teeth and change into his sleep pants in a state of hazy goodwill.

But the second he lay down in bed, the memory of Ari pressing him into the carpet came roaring back to him. He shut his eyes against the strength of it, only to be undone by the contrasting gentleness of how his hands had felt, the brush of his fingertips. It had been a long goddamn time since Kent had been touched like that, and thinking about the reasons why had shame and lust and awful yearning twisting through his chest.

The sad truth came to him in the dark, the way it always did: before Jack, he’d only ever kissed strangers at parties, and after Jack, he’d spent so long clinging stupidly to the hope that they’d find their way back to each other that there hadn’t been anyone else, not really; only anonymous girls who’d kissed him or sucked him off in clubs on nights when he’d had to be seen to wheel, and every time, he’d pictured instead the same blue eyes, the same dark hair, as if Jack had ever once knelt for him. He’d experimented a little with toys and lube and his own two hands, but always in the dark, like now, and always alone, and whatever physical satisfaction he’d taken from it had never waylaid the crawling sense of loneliness that came afterwards.

But Ari had touched him playfully, roughly, gently, not for hockey, but for his own sake, and Kent had let him. Kent wanted more, and was terrified by the private admission; by the possibility that some fucked-up part of him was already casting Ari as Jack’s echo.

 _They’re nothing alike,_ he told himself wildly, and felt his heartrate steady as he realised it was true. Jack had always been serious, anxious, cautiously happy in public and intense in private; Ari, though, was mellow and joyful, kind in ways that Kent couldn’t look at too closely without feeling himself crack open. Jack, at least, had never been cruel to Kent on purpose, but when Jack had told him no forever at Samwell, Kent had responded by ripping him up the middle with a burning cold meanness he’d never felt before or since, the memory as sharp as a punctured lung. The thought of ever showing that side of himself to Ari – of fixating so wholly again on another teammate, another man he couldn’t have, that he ended up turning on them – was vile enough that he curled around it like a pillbug, stomach aching.

 _It won’t happen,_ he told himself, making it a promise. _It won’t happen again. I’ll be better this time. I’ll be his friend and never ask for anything else. I won’t_ need _anything else._

Eventually, he slept.


	9. Chapter 9

Over the next ten days, whenever they weren’t at practice, Ari threw himself into the task of investing Kent in Houston. Their first such excursion, obviously, was to the Space Centre, where Ari shamelessly geeked out about science he hardly understood but was nonetheless deeply in awe of.

“Space is cool as _fuck_ , dude,” he said to Kent, admittedly not for the first time.

Kent groaned. “Oh my god, I’m such a fucking idiot. I only just got it!”

“Got what?” asked Ari, busy gazing in awe at the starship gallery.

“The Houston _Aeros_. We’re the _Aeros_ because of _aerospace engineering_. Because of NASA stuff!”

Ari turned to stare at him. “Kent. Our PR TV thing is _literally called Aerospace_. How did you not already know this?”

“I thought it was just a pun!”

Ari burst out laughing. “Oh my fucking god, Parser, you absolute _himbo_.”

Kent smacked him across the shoulder, cheeks pink. “Shut the fuck up, I’m having an educational experience!”

“Yeah you are,” said Ari, and waggled his eyebrows, pleased to his core when Kent snorted with laughter and shoved him towards the next exhibit.

They went out to dinner that night, and Ari refused to think about how he was bringing Kent to his usual first date Italian place. _We’re here because the food’s good and he’s getting the Houston tour, that’s all,_ he told himself, and sternly entertained no fantasies of Kent shyly coming out to him over the tiramisu.

The rookies flew out early the next day for a game against the Tampa Bay Lightning. Sheddy, Viking, Vibby and Comet had a golf day planned and texted Ari to ask if he and Kent wanted in, but to Ari’s profound delight, Kent turned out not to care about golf, which left them free to go to the Houston Zoo instead.

“You have no idea,” Ari said fervently, “how glad I am to have a single goddamn teammate who doesn’t like golf. I fucking hate it.”

“I wouldn’t say I hate it,” said Kent, as they passed through the entrance. “I just don’t really like it, either. I’m golf-neutral.”

“Golf was invented to make white dudes think that belted shorts, plaid and snapbacks are a fashion statement, and is also boring as fuck,” Ari said. “Hey, you wanna go see the tigers first? I wanna see the tigers.”

“Let’s head towards the tigers,” said Kent, delicately taking the map from Ari’s hands, “but look at stuff on the way there.” 

“Mint,” said Ari, grinning cheekily.

Kent hit him with the map.

At the end of a day spent laughing, chirping and talking, Ari had taken a shitload of animal shots, a modest number of selfies, and a vaguely embarrassing quantity of Kent photos, only few of them staged. With Kent’s approval, he Instagrammed a selfie of the pair of them looking deliberately bro-y in front of some disinterested giraffes and a photo of Kent pointing sternly at a naked mole rat. They tagged Rainbow in that one, right on the mole rat’s face. But Ari’s favourite shots were the ones he took when Kent was watching the red pandas play. In the first, he was laughing, head thrown back; in the second, smiling that rare, real smile; and in the third, taken in profile, there was a softly complex look on his face, lips curved on the edge of some private feeling Ari couldn’t presume to name. He didn’t show those photos to Kent, feeling oddly exposed by having taken them at all, but later that night, in the privacy of his room, he set the second one as Kent’s contact picture in his phone. He’d really wanted to use the third, but it felt too personal, somehow; as if anyone who saw it pop up when Kent texted or called would be seeing more than Ari wanted to show them.

Back at practice after the rookies returned from a 4-3/OT loss to the Bolts, Rainbow came storming up to Ari in the dressing room and said, without any preamble, “What the fuck, Paxer? How come you’ve never taken me to the fucking zoo?”

“Because you already live there,” Kent chirped from his stall, eliciting laughter from everyone who’d seen the mole rat photo.

“Aw, kiddo,” Ari said, pasting on an obnoxious grin as he ruffled Rainbow’s hair. “Don’t be jealous. I love all my children equally.”

Kent shot him a disgusted look. “I am _not_ your child.”

“You’re short enough for it, though,” chirped Rainbow, then squawked as Ari put him in a headlock.

“Apologise to your betters, infant.”

“Never,” said Rainbow, resulting in a tussle that lasted until Roycroft came in and yelled at them to stop horsing around and get on the goddamn ice.

When the second-last preseason game rolled around – an away against the Colorado Avalanche – Ari felt a genuine pang of regret, that he’d run out of time and excuses both to take Kent on more exploratory not-dates. _Friend-dates,_ he told himself firmly. _You’re friends first and it’s going to stay that way._ After weeks of living in each other’s pockets, it was a surprise to take his usual seat on the team plane and have Sheddy sit down next to him instead of Kent, even though they were always seatmates.

His feelings must’ve shown on his face. Sheddy raised a bushy, dark eyebrow and said, somewhat dryly, “You were expecting a short blonde?”

“Not really,” Ari lied. “It’s just culture shock.”

“Sure it is,” Sheddy said placidly. “Parse is with Viking, by the way. No need to fret about him.”

“I’m not fretting.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“You’re zen today. Maybe I should swap seats with Rainbow, let him soak in your chill vibes.”

“Don’t you dare,” warned Sheddy, then took the sting out of it by giving Ari’s leg an affectionate thump. “Anyway. All chirps aside, you’ve done well getting Parse settled. He’s been a real pro about it in the room, but being traded from the team that drafted you always stings, even when you’re a rookie; I can’t imagine how much worse it feels when you’re a captain who won a cup with them. And no,” he added, forestalling Ari’s reply, “that isn’t me asking you to cough up any details he’s told you in private. The fact that they took Ryker in exchange for him is all the proof I need that something’s hinky in Vegas, but unless it’s gonna have a direct impact on how we play against them, I don’t need to know.”

Ari let out a breath of relief. “Thanks, Sheddy.”

“Don’t thank me for doing my job.”

“Why not? You’re thanking me for doing mine.”

“Heh,” said Sheddy. “Fair. Anyway.” He waved a hand, effectively ending the conversation. “You wanna watch some Ninja Warrior?”

“Fuck yeah,” said Ari, and pulled out his travelling headphones.


	10. Chapter 10

Kent and Ari had clicked as linemates in practice, but there was nothing quite like stepping on NHL ice together, even in the preseason, to make Kent feel the kind of giddy, swooping joy that only came from playing gorgeous hockey. Maybe it was all the time they’d spent together or just raw natural chemistry, but no matter where Ari was, Kent could find him, and vice versa. Almost every pass was tape-to-tape, and with big-bodied Comet out there as the other winger, screening the net and digging for pucks and generally making a beautiful nuisance of himself, the Aeros’ top line was virtually untouchable. Ari scored twice in the first off assists from Kent, who then scored twice himself in the second off assists from Ari, and even though the Avs managed to sneak two of their own past Kirilov – one of them on the power play, after Rainbow took a tripping call in the third – the end score was 5-2 Aeros, with Comet getting an empty netter.

The whole team was jubilant afterwards, shoving and yelling and laughing on the plane back to Houston. The final preseason game was in two days, the official home opener two days after that, and the excitement for the coming season was palpable. In his enthusiasm, Kent completely forgot about plane seating rules and sat down next to Ari, who beamed at him and bumped their shoulders together.

“What a fucking game, eh?”

“You were pretty mint,” teased Kent, and felt his stomach flip when Ari groan-laughed and stared mock beseechingly at the ceiling, an attitude which emphased the strong line of his jaw.

The moment was interrupted by Sheddy, who stopped by Kent’s seat and demanded, “What am I, chopped liver?”

Kent flinched and flushed bright red, pulse lurching from zero to sixty. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said, fumbling to stand, and was halfway out of his seat before Sheddy, brows raised in surprise, could wave him down again.

“Hey, it’s fine, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll keep Viking company.”

“I didn’t –”

“Kent, it’s okay,” said Sheddy. He hesitated, then reached down and dapped Kent gently on the shoulder. Kent went tense at the contact, but forced himself to smile until Sheddy nodded and moved on. Kent stayed rigid in his stolen seat, a sour taste in his mouth, and jumped again when Ari touched his forearm.

“Hey,” he said softly, brown eyes worried. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” said Kent, then shook his head and exhaled, slow and shaky. “I mean. Uh.” He fished for an excuse, then realised with a dislocating lurch that he didn’t need one, because Ari _knew_. He fidgeted against the admission, then said, with a quiet gulp, “My dad, you know. Just. Big older guys yelling or being mad, I sometimes… it reminds me of him.”

“Oh,” said Ari, and for an awful moment Kent was worried Ari was going to take offence because obviously, Sheddy was a good guy and their captain and he should know better, or else tell him he was overreacting for no good reason, especially when he was the one who’d stolen Sheddy’s seat.

But Ari didn’t do any of that. Instead, he kept on looking at Kent with those dark, calm eyes, no trace of judgement anywhere. Without looking away, he brushed the back of Kent’s hand with his, waited to see that Kent didn’t object, and then, with aching slowness, twined their fingers together. Kent’s breathing hitched; he dropped his gaze to stare as Ari squeezed his hand, thumb stroking lightly across his skin in a way that raised goosebumps everywhere.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, a flash of worry returning to his expression.

Dumb-tongued, Kent could only nod before finally managing, “Yeah. It’s… yeah.”

Ari gave him another squeeze, and Kent, in a moment of absolute daring, squeezed back. Ari smiled at him, and Kent didn’t know what his face was doing, but it felt like he was simultaneously on fire and frozen, half floating above his body from the strength of a single, simple touch.

Ari kept holding his hand until the plane was down the runway and into the sky, a slow withdrawal softened by a grin as he pulled his tablet and a pair of headphones out of the seat pocket.

“Want to watch something with me?” he asked, as though Kent’s entire body wasn’t prickling hot-cold-hot with longing.

“Uh. Like what?”

“Like, hm. I watch Ninja Warrior with Sheddy, but… you wanna watch the Great British Baking Show?”

“Sure,” said Kent, who would’ve agreed to anything at that point. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Ari handed him an earbud, leaning in so their shoulders touched as he propped the tablet in place, and for the rest of the flight to Houston, Kent steadily relaxed under the gentle auspices of weirdly accented Brits and their passion for cakes.

“Dude,” he said, when it was finally time to pack up the tablet. “That show is like, a thousand times more chill than Cupcake Wars or Chopped or Cutthroat Kitchen.”

“Right?” said Ari, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s just, like, nice.”

“I didn’t know there were nice cooking competitions.”

“We can watch some more together, if you like.”

“I would,” said Kent, then ducked his head, abashed. “At home, though. Sheddy’ll want his seat back next time.”

Ari considered him as they filed off the tarmac. “You know,” he said, oddly hesitant, “if you wanted to stay seatmates, Sheddy would be cool with it. And Viking, too.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” Ari blinked. “You don’t want to? Which, it’s totally cool if not, but –”

“No, I do,” said Kent, feeling awkward all over again. He tried for a smile. “Just don’t want you to get sick of me, that’s all.”

Ari’s gaze softened. “I doubt that’ll happen,” he said, “but even if we needed a break from one another, we could just switch back. Either way, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Okay, then.” He smiled again, and this time it felt real. “Let’s do it.”


	11. Chapter 11

The day before the Aeros were set to play their season home opener, Sheddy traditionally threw a team-and-families gathering at his house. This year was no exception, and while Kent clearly hadn’t known about it until Sheddy announced it in the locker room after their last preseason game, Ari was relieved to find that he was on board with going. Team bonding being what it was, there hadn’t yet been much occasion for Kent to meet the wives and girlfriends of the partnered-up Aeros, and Ari, for reasons he chose not to examine too closely, was looking forward to see how he fit in with them.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t be bringing anything?” Kent asked, a betraying trace of nervousness in his voice as Ari led him up the drive to Sheddy’s sprawling home.

Ari shot him an amused look. “Did you make the Aces bring stuff when you hosted team events?”

“No, but –” Kent waved a hand, as if to indicate the many significant differences between Houston and Las Vegas. “We didn’t really have that many married guys, you know? Lots of serially single vets and younger players, but there weren’t often kids around.”

“And that makes a difference?”

“I mean.” Kent gave an awkward shrug. “It kinda feels like it should?”

“Well, it doesn’t.” Ari bumped their shoulders together, trying to convey solidarity. “I promise, I’m not hazing you by making you show up empty-handed or some bullshit. It’s fine.”

Kent nodded, but didn’t say anything else as they reached the door. Ari didn’t knock – the team knew the passcode for the front gate, allowing the door to be left unlocked for guests to enter unannounced, and he ushered Kent in with a smile.

From the main hall, they could hear music playing, the low bass of nineties rock overlaid by the higher sounds of children, dogs and laughter. The main room was already full of people, with Sheddy’s wife Hollis ferrying food from the open-plan kitchen, past the lounge and through to the patio on one side, while kids and dogs ran shrieking in from the garden on the other. Kent briefly froze, then pasted on a softer version of his media smile as Hollis deposited a tray of meat on the grill, kissed her husband’s cheek and hurried back through the sliding glass doors to greet them.

“Ari!” she said, giving him a hug. She was a short, cheerful woman with bright green eyes, her coppery curls bouncing around her jaw. She smiled at Kent, giving him a once-over. “And you must be the famous Kent Parson!”

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Kent, and only looked mildly startled when Hollis, evidently deciding he met with her approval, leaned in to hug him, too. She was wearing a pale green tank with jean shorts, and in addition to the usual scatter of freckles, Ari noticed she had a long, purpling bruise on her forearm.

“Ouch!” he said, nodding to it. “You lose a fight with an octopus?”

Hollis laughed and rolled her eyes. “In a manner of speaking. Maya slammed the door on me when we were playing chase. Who knew five-year-olds were that strong, huh?”

Ari lit up at the mention of Maya. “Aw, she just takes after her Uncle Ari, that’s all. Where’s my girl at?” He scanned the room, and a moment later Maya came hurtling in, yelling delight as she flung herself at his legs and demanded to be picked up.

“Ari Ari Ari Ari _Ari_!” 

“Maya Maya Maya Maya _Maya_!” Laughing, he swung her upside down from his arm, let her squeal happily for a good three seconds, then righted her and propped her expertly on his hip. Maya had Sheddy’s blue eyes and her mother’s bright curls, which were currently escaping from a ponytail tied with a ribbon. “Maya, this is Kent. He plays with your daddy and me.”

“Hi Kent!” said Maya, half-leaning out of Ari’s arms to get a better look at him.

“Hi,” said Kent, looking ever-so-slightly like a deer in headlights.

Maya squinted at him. “Do you have kids? You don’t look like you have kids.”

Hollis muffled laughter behind her hands as Kent, blushing pink across the bridge of his nose, said, “Ah, no, sorry. No kids.”

“Aww.” Maya patted Ari’s arm, the sign that she wanted to be let down, then peered up at Kent with her hands on her hips. “That’s fine, I _guess_. Just, if you had kids, I could play with them. Let me know if you have any next time!” And before he could respond to this, she ran off to join her companions in wrestling with the family’s very patient Labrador.

“Sorry about that,” said Hollis, grinning at Kent. “She doesn’t have much of a filter.”

“No offence taken.”

Taking pity on him, Ari nudged Kent’s shoulder and pointed him in the direction of the alcohol. “Go grab a drink; I wanna talk to Sheddy about changing seats before I forget.”

Kent nodded, looking a little less lost at sea. “You want anything?”

“A beer, thanks.”

“Sure,” said Kent, and made a beeline for the icebucket.

As Hollis excused herself to the kitchen once more, Ari headed out to the patio where Sheddy, also as per tradition, was setting up the grill. When Ari asked about the seat-swap, the extent of his reaction was to raise one eyebrow, grin and say, “Sure, knock yourselves out. But just so you know, I’m gonna start watching Ninja Warrior with Viking.”

“Fair,” said Ari, and turned to find Kent already behind him, holding out a beer. He accepted it gratefully, clinked their bottles together, and immediately forgot whatever he’d been about to say as Rainbow walked past in a pair of bright blue Crocs.

“Rainbow, what the fuck are those?”

Rainbow crossed his arms over his chest, grinning broadly. “Hey, they’re good enough for Crosby.”

“Yeah, but even Crosby gets chirped for them, and you, my friend, are very much _not_ Sidney Crosby.”

“Fuck off, Paxer. You wish you had my style.”

Ari pointedly raked his gaze over Rainbow’s outfit, which – crocs aside – consisted of tight, ripped white denim shorts, a skinny-loose racerback tank in pastel-bright shades of pink and blue, a massive square pair of purple-tinted Gucci sunglasses and a ratty red snapback he’d worn often enough that, even turned backwards, Ari recognised as bearing the logo of his old OHL team.

“Style,” he said, in tones of extremely merited judgement. “You think _this_ is style?” 

Rainbow tipped his sunglasses up with the tip of the beer he technically wasn’t legal to drink outside of Canada and winked at him. “Bro. _Anything’s_ stylish when you look this hot.”

“Your nipples are gonna get sunburned,” said Kent – not inaccurately, as the tanktop showed more of the rookie’s pecs than it concealed. “Put some fucking suncream on or your gear’s gonna chafe like hell tomorrow.”

Rainbow heaved an exaggerated groan and took a sip of his beer. “What are you, my dad?”

“I’m the voice of experience,” said Kent. “Burned nipples hurt like fuck, I’m just saying.”

“Can you three stop swearing and talking about nipples?” Sheddy said mildly. “There’s kids around.”

“I know,” said Ari, smirking at Rainbow. “I’m looking at one right now.”

Kent cackled at that, while Rainbow snorted, rolled his shoulders and headed into the house, calling over his shoulder, “You all suck!”

Catching sight of Maya’s three-year-old brother, Keller, Ari said to Sheddy, “Just think: in another sixteen years, that could be your boy.”

Sheddy groaned. “Oh god, don’t.”

From there, the conversation progressed easily to their opinions on the rookies – aside from Rainbow, there were two others who’d made the team out of camp – and which of the ones who’d been cut latest were likely to be called up if there was an injury. Kent relaxed with the hockey talk, his real smile making brief, flashing appearances like sunlight through clouds. As close as they were standing, Ari had to suppress the urge to sling an arm around Kent’s shoulders; it was perfectly acceptable bro-contact by hockey standards, but after the hand-holding on the plane, he didn’t think he could pass it off as that to even himself.

With the grill beginning to demand more of Sheddy’s attention – and as the temperature outside began to heat up – they both retreated to the air-conditioned lounge, where Kent was promptly introduced to Comet’s wife, Yvette, and Viking’s girlfriend, Avery. Yvette had their three-month-old daughter, Camille, snugged to her chest in a purple sling; it was the first time Ari had seen her in person, and he couldn’t stop himself from cooing over her.

“She’s gorgeous,” Kent agreed, gently touching the back of his finger to the crown of her head. He gave a self-conscious laugh and pulled away again. “Not that I have much experience with babies, but. You know.”

Ari felt some kind of way about that. He took a large drink to compensate.

The talk moved on for a few more minutes before Yvette asked, in her curling Quebecois accent, “Moving is always so hard. Are all your things still in Las Vegas?”

“Sort of,” said Kent. “I arranged to have everything put in storage for the time being. My real estate agent’s putting the condo on the market, but it probably won’t sell any time soon, and until I know where I’ll be next year…”

He let the sentence tail off, and everyone nodded knowingly. As Yvette talked about moving to Houston from Montreal when Comet had been traded, Ari finished his drink and was wondering when he could politely excuse himself to get another one when Kent, unprompted, took the empty bottle from him and cut in at the perfect moment to say, “Back in a moment.”

Ari watched him go, chest twisting strangely. He ought to have contributed to the conversation, but instead was unable to tear his gaze away from the mundane sight of Kent dropping their empties in the recycling bin. Hollis, laden with a platter of freshly roasted vegetables, spoke to him as they passed each other in the kitchen; Kent laughed and replied, Hollis half-turned to say something else – and at that exact moment, Maya barrelled blindly around the corner and careened headlong into her mother’s legs.

Twisted as she was, Hollis was caught off-balance and couldn’t keep her footing. Her hands went up, her body went down, the plate went flying, and there was an almighty, shattering _crash!_ as it broke into dozens of shards on the kitchen tiles. Everyone froze, startled by the noise – everyone except Kent, who moved like lightning, swooping the barefooted Maya onto his hip before she could even start to cry and settling her safely on the counter. He crouched and held out a hand to Hollis, who’d landed on her tailbone, and was just helping her up when Sheddy, summoned by the noise, came hurrying in from the patio.

“Christ, what’s happened?” he asked – loudly, because he was one of those men who got louder the more startled or worried they were.

As Maya’s lip started to wobble, Kent turned from helping Hollis to answer Sheddy.

“It was my fault,” he said – so calmly that, even though Ari had just watched the whole thing happen, he almost didn’t register the lie. “It’s not her fault. I’ll clean it up.”

Sheddy blinked at this, then turned instantly to Maya. “Are you okay, sweetheart? You’re not cut?”

Maya shook her head and then promptly burst into tears. Making soothing noises, Sheddy picked her up and hugged her close, one big hand wrapped around her head as he bypassed Kent to check on Hollis. Around him, Ari was aware of everyone else resuming their conversations, and realised he was the only one who’d actually watched the whole incident unfold. Rabbit-tense as Hollis reassured Sheddy that she was fine, Kent dropped to his knees and started picking up shards of plate.

It was this sight that finally prompted Ari to move. He looked at Hollis over Kent’s head, trying to gauge her reaction – she was still a little winded, but not so much that she wasn’t clearly confused by Kent’s blame-taking, if the way her gaze flicked quizzically down and up again was anything to go by. Ari was pretty confused himself, until he crouched down opposite Kent and saw, with an awful lurch, that his hands were shaking.

All at once, everything clicked into place.

“Hey,” said Ari, softly as he could. Up close, Kent was breathing tight and shallow. “Hey, Kent. It’s okay.”

“I’ll fix it,” Kent whispered, lips nearly white. He was pale all over, shockier by far that Hollis. Ari wanted to be sick. “I won’t take long.”

“Kent.” Ari reached out and gently closed his fingers around Kent’s wrist, squeezing until he stilled. Kent finally looked at him, eyes huge and glassy. “Kent, it’s fine. C’mon, you’re going to cut your fingers.” Glancing up at Hollis and Sheddy, he asked, “Do you have a dustpan and broom?”

As if jolted out of a trance, Hollis nodded. “In the hall cupboard. I’ll get it.”

“See?” said Ari, once more pitching his voice for Kent alone. “It’s fine. There’s no harm done. You can put the pieces down.”

Swallowing hard, Kent let the gathered shards fall to the floor. Ari withdrew his hand, and Kent stood up so fast it was dizzying. Ari straightened more slowly, not wanting to spook him further.

“I’m sorry,” Kent said to Sheddy. “It was an accident.”

Before Sheddy could reply, Maya lifted her head from his shoulder and wailed, “But it was _my_ acksitent! I crashed mommy!”

Sheddy leaned back slightly to look at her better, comprehension dawning. “You were running in the kitchen again?”

Maya hiccupped and nodded, pressing her face to his neck.

Sheddy sighed and cradled her again. “Baby, you know you shouldn’t do that.” He waited a moment, then added, “We’ll talk about it later, okay? The important thing is you’re not hurt.”

He turned to Kent, lips parted around a question he didn’t get the chance to ask as Hollis returned with the dustpan and broom. Ari moved to take them from her, and when he turned again Kent was already at the side door, vanishing silently into the garden. Swallowing an impulse to immediately chase after him, Ari instead made himself useful, sweeping up the broken plate while Hollis salvaged what she could of the vegetables. The ones that had burst or broken on impact went in the compost bin; the rest were thoroughly washed and returned to the oven for a quick, drying reheat.

With everything taken care of, Ari dumped the shards in the bin – “I really liked that plate,” Hollis said wistfully – returned the dustpan and broom to their cupboard, and then finally, after what felt like hours but had only been minutes, went in search of Kent.

The garden wasn’t small, but Kent wasn’t hard to find. He was tucked out of sight, as Ari had somehow suspected he’d be, between one wing of the house and the garden wall, sitting with his knees pulled up and his head in his hands.

Heart pounding for any number of reasons, Ari walked over and knelt beside him, feeling utterly helpless.

“Kent?”

Slowly, Kent lifted his head. He was crying.

“I hate being like this,” Kent whispered. He rubbed harshly at his eyes, red-rimmed and wet. “What’s the point of me?”

“What’s the point of anyone?” said Ari, hoping it sounded more meaningful than it felt. “Kent, c’mon. This isn’t your fault.”

“I’m messed up.” Kent turned his head away. “She has that fucking bruise on her arm, and I thought… how the fuck am I meant to fit in, when I keep assuming shit like this?”

“You’re fitting in fine. This doesn’t change anything.”

Kent snorted. “What, so Sheddy’s just gonna be cool with me thinking he beats his wife?”

“Sheddy won’t care about that,” said Ari. “I mean, he probably won’t, but if he does, it’ll only be for, like, two seconds.” Seeing this wasn’t helping, he hurried on with, “But what he _will_ care about is knowing there’s a guy on his team whose first instinct, before anything else, was to make sure his wife and kid were safe, even though he’d just met them. Who was potentially willing to _risk his spot on the_ _team_ to make sure nothing happened to them. Fuck, that’s not being broken; that’s being _brave_.”

Kent stared at him like he’d grown an extra head. “I’m not brave. I’m the furthest thing from brave.”

“You’re wrong, though,” Ari insisted. “Listen, I get why you’d be worried about what Sheddy might think, but the guy you were traded for, Ryker? He’s an absolute piece of shit. All the WAGs hated him and so did most of the guys, too. The shit he pulled… he’d get drunk at parties like this and hit on half the WAGs, including Hollis; he’d wheel girls who were way too young for him – not illegal young, thank god, but it was still gross – and anytime he’d actually date one for more than a week, he’d always cheat on her. Literally nobody was sad to see him go, and the only reason it took so long to trade him was because Hallmark couldn’t find a GM who’d give him a good on-ice return, knowing what a problem Ryker was otherwise. And then Vegas decided to go full Chiarelli, and I know you didn’t want a trade, but the first thing I said, when I heard it was you we were getting? I told Hallmark he fucking fleeced them, and he _agreed_. You’re ten times the guy Ryker is, and that’s before you even set foot in a rink.”

For a long, fraught moment, Kent was silent. Then, in a sudden, red-faced lurch, he came to his knees and leant into Ari, hugging him hard, his face pressed to Ari’s shoulder. Ari hugged him back, pulse hammering in his throat, and didn’t let go until, after seconds or minutes or maybe eons, Kent pulled away again.

“Fuck,” said Kent, and smiled his real smile as he knuckled his eyes, more gently than before. “I need to wash my face.”

“There’s a tap around here somewhere,” said Ari. “I mean, I assume there’s a tap.”

Kent laughed weakly. Putting a hand on Ari’s shoulder, he levered himself to his feet. “Help me look for one, then.”

“Sure,” said Ari. “Whatever you need.”

_I’d give you anything, I think._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: reference to past child death.

Even after Ari found him and calmed him down, Kent spent the rest of the party waiting to be interrogated, fearful that Sheddy or Comet would suddenly look up from the grill and realise he didn’t belong there. But nothing happened. Any tension had vanished with the swept-up shards of the broken platter, as neatly patched over as if it had never existed. Even Hollis, who knew he’d lied to her husband’s face, did nothing to make him feel unwelcome. There was no troubled scrutiny, no chirps or dark looks; only Maya unexpectedly clambering onto his lap when he sat down to eat his lunch, giggling as Ari helped her with her food. It left Kent feeling adrift and anchored all at once, not knowing what to trust about himself. But he trusted Ari.

It ought to have been an impossible thing, that trust. As it was, even trying to think about it contextually left him scared witless. But when they finally headed home, he didn’t have the strength to deny himself the pleasure of hovering in the kitchen as Ari cooked dinner, bickering with him over the shared meal, sitting side by side on the couch to watch ESPN before heading to their respective rooms to sleep. Kent had had friends on the Aces, and he’d had fleeting crushes on teammates before, but none of that felt comparable to what he was feeling now, and that… that wasn’t something he could rationally deal with, not after what had happened.

 _Put it away,_ he told himself firmly. _Put it away and play hockey like you’re being paid to do._

The next day, the season started, and Kent threw himself into it as fully as he ever had. The first two weeks of the schedule were brutal, cramped with divisional games and back-to-backs, and Kent was determined to help the Aeros get off to a good start. Their home opener was a comparatively soft matchup against the Sabres, but from the moment he set foot on the ice, Kent played like they were two points out of a playoff spot in February, and Ari was right there with him, reading his plays and receiving his passes as perfectly as if he’d never done anything else. The Aeros won the game 6-2, then won again the next night against the Blues. They flew to Chicago and won in OT against the ‘Hawks, then lost a hard-fought match against the Jets at home where Rainbow dropped the gloves with Adam Lowry and earned himself a spectacular black eye.

It was fast and hard and exhilarating, the stakes technically low because it was only the start of the season but functionally higher because of the chance to steal vital points from so many divisional rivals. Playing the Devils was easier on both counts, but after that came the Stars (a win in the shootout, courtesy of a wicked goal by Comet), the Preds (a regulation loss) and then the ‘Hawks again (an ugly regulation win that saw Kent in the box for slashing, because Patrick _fucking_ Kane had a way of getting under his skin).

Pumped with adrenaline after that final, victorious game of the homestand, Kent whooped as the Aeros tramped back into the locker room, sharing an elated grin with Ari as he made his way to his stall. This season’s victory item, an upmarket Halloween tiara, had gone to Comet after the Stars game, and once Roycroft had finished his usual, brief “good hustle” speech and Sheddy had followed up with individual praise, Comet pulled out the tiara and moved to the locker room floor.

“Great game, boys,” he said, his orange hair sticking up every whichway. “Uh, everyone fought pretty good tonight, ‘specially Hagrid –” he nodded to the hulking goalie, who grinned shyly through his spectacular beard, “– but I’m gonna have to give it to Parser, for getting us the equaliser and also pissing off Kane.”

The whole room erupted in cheers, leaving Kent, who hadn’t been expecting it, to stand and accept both the tiara and a backslapping hug from Comet. He donned the sparkly metal at a rakish angle, cheeks burning only slightly, and addressed the room in turn, trying to ignore the fact that Kae, the social media intern, was filming the celebration.

“Thanks, Comet. This was a good win, a good start to the season, so let’s take this energy on the road and kick the shit out of California!”

More cheering sounded as Kent sat down. Ari reached over and gave his thigh a congratulatory smack, and Kent was so disproportionately distracted by this that he missed the moment when Roycroft, counter to usual practice, returned to stand on the Aeros logo.

“One more thing, boys – I know we’re all excited for the mothers’ trip, so let’s all remember to get to the bus on time tomorrow. That means you, Rainbow,” he added, to general laughter. “All right! Oh, and if anyone wants to do a workout, the trainers have a new schedule for you to check.”

With that, Roycroft stepped away again and the Aeros resumed talking amongst themselves, stripping out of their gear and chirping with equal facility. Kent, though, sat quiet in his stall, his stomach churning uneasily. It wasn’t that he’d completely forgotten about the mothers’ trip; he’d just put it so far out of his mind that he hadn’t been aware it was happening _now_. Removing the tiara, he undressed mechanically, had a quick shower and changed into his workout gear, heading to the training room for a cooldown. He’d skated enough in the game that he had no reason to use the bike, so he set himself to doing pullups and other upper body exercises instead, trying to blank out his thoughts with the steady, slow burn of his muscles.

Eventually, though, he had to stop. Sweating and emptied out, he showered again, changed into something presentable, grabbed his things and headed into the hall. For the first time since his move to Houston, he contemplated heading out to drink alone, and was on the brink of calling a rideshare to take him to a bar when, suddenly, Ari appeared beside him.

“Good workout?” he asked, folding his headphone away.

Kent came to an abrupt halt, staring wordlessly at him. Ari hadn’t done a postgame workout. There was no good reason for him to still be here, except that he’d opted to wait for Kent. Ari frowned, a vague crease of concern and puzzlement appearing between his brows.

“Kent?”

“You stayed,” said Kent, stupidly. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“Why wouldn’t I stay?” said Ari. “I drove you here.”

Kent didn’t know what to say to that, and so resumed walking. As they exited the Toyota Centre and headed out into the parking lot, he finally managed, “When does your mom arrive?”

“Oh!” said Ari, sounding pleased. “She’ll drive over tomorrow morning, so we can bus to the airport together.”

“Drive? I didn’t know your parents lived so close.”

Ari laughed. “They don’t. They actually live in Colorado, but mom thought it was stupid to fly all the way to Texas without spending any time here, so she came down a couple of days ago to stay with friends in Galveston.”

They reached the car, and conversation paused as they both got buckled in. It wasn’t until he’d started the engine that Ari said, “She’s looking forward to meeting you, you know. And, like. I know this whole trip is probably gonna be a little weird for you, but you can always chill with us.”

Kent swallowed a feeling he didn’t want to name. “You should spend time with your mom, dude, I don’t wanna get in the way of that.”

“You won’t, I promise. Besides, she told me to tell you specifically that you’re welcome.”

“Oh,” said Kent. “I, uh. That’s really nice of her. And you. Um.” He forced himself to take a breath. “What’s her name? Or what should I call her, then?”

Ari grinned. “Her name’s Starlight, but she goes by Star. My grandparents are hippies,” he added: a practiced rider. “On that side of the family, anyway.”

“And the other side?” Kent asked, intrigued despite himself.

“They’re very suburban Canadian. My dad played in the minors, even got called up to the show a few times, but he was never a big name.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He could’ve been, maybe, but he got hurt a lot, and he eventually figured his long-term health was more important. He met my mom while he was playing, though, which I’m sure she’ll tell you all about tomorrow.” He rolled his eyes, fond and long-suffering.

Kent tried to picture an adult woman called Starlight who’d raised a man like Ari, and failed. Belatedly, he realised this was the first time they’d ever really talked about family. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Two, technically,” said Ari. “My sister Cassie is twenty-four, doing postgrad stuff in Hawaii – she studies archaeology, which always seems really cool whenever she tells me about it – and we did have a little brother, James, but.” He shrugged, his easy smile turning briefly sad. “He died as a baby. SIDS.”

Kent blanched. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Ari. “Seriously. I mean, it sucked at the time – I was eight, Cass was five, death’s hard for kids to understand – but it’s like… he was _so_ young, you know? Babies that little, you only really know that they’re loud and you love them; you don’t know who they are, who they’re going to be. So when he died, it wasn’t like we lost _James_ -James, like a specific person; it was that we lost the chance to _meet_ that person, to see him grow up with us. Everyone was sad, but we were all sad together, and once we got older it was like, we’d look at kids his age – the age he would’ve been then, I mean, whatever that was at the time – and wonder if he’d have been like them, what stuff he would’ve done. And like. I still think like that sometimes, especially with the rookies – he’d be Rainbow’s age now if he’d lived, you know? Which is weird as hell to think about – but it doesn’t hurt like it did when I was ten. It just is what it is.” He paused, then added, “Hopefully he’d have had better taste in clothing than Rainbow, though.”

Miraculously, Kent laughed. “The fact Rainbow isn’t even the worst-dressed player in the league is genuinely frightening.”

“Oh my god, you should see what he wears when he’s wheeling. It’s like a magpie got dressed in the dark.”

With the conversation thus made safe from difficult feelings, they kept up their chirping banter all the way home. Kit rushed them both when they got in, and Kent made sure to give her extra love in anticipation of heading off on the California roadtrip. Ari’s housekeeper, Minnie, who’d come around to feed her during their previous away games, was apparently smitten and very happy to do so again in future, so that was one of Kent’s worries taken care of. He’d been thinking about getting a second cat to keep Kit company, but he needed to be both geographically settled and physically present to supervise that sort of introduction, and he hadn’t been in the right space to do so this past offseason, even before the trade. Now, though… now, he didn’t know when he might get the chance.

Shoving the thought aside, he tried to relax into packing and his other pre-travel routines, the better to shut off his brain before bed. He managed it through sheer force of will at the expense of a night of anxiety dreams, and when he woke the next morning, he felt strangely jittery and on-edge at the prospect of meeting Ari’s mom, even after a quick workout.

Over breakfast, Ari kept one eye on his phone, periodically texting back as she updated her ETA. Kent tried to distract himself from the situation by doing housework, which resulting in him breaking a glass and then dropping a spoon in the garbage disposal.

“Please stop,” said Ari, shaking with laughter as Kent tried and failed to fish out the spoon with a pair of salad tongs. “I’ve left a note for Minnie to call the maintenance guy about it, oh my god, _Kent, no_. You’re going to lose a finger!”

“It’s not even turned on!” Kent protested, but he pulled his hand out anyway.

Putting the tongs in the dishwasher, he tried to think of some less destructive way to occupy himself and was just wondering whether he could fit in a second quick workout when Ari announced, “She’s here!”

Kent lurched upright and turned around, absurdly flustered. _What the fuck, calm down,_ he told himself, and was maybe ten percent of the way to achieving that goal when Ari, who’d already rushed to the door, returned with his mother in tow.

“And this is Kent!” said Ari, gesturing happily as he continued whatever conversation they’d begun outside.

Ari’s mother – Starlight – _Star_ – smiled in greeting. “Hello, Kent.”

“Uh,” said Kent. “Hi, Mrs P- I mean, uh – Star.”

She laughed, and it was Ari’s laugh, the same calm warmth in a lighter voice. She was tall, was the first thing that struck him – easily 6’0 to Ari’s 6’4, which made her taller than Kent himself – with a gently padded frame. In her fifties, her long blonde hair was streaked with silver and bound in a braid that hung past her shoulders, tied with rainbow string. She wore no makeup that Kent could see, and her hazel eyes were clear and kind. She wore sturdy Timbs with bootcut jeans and a faded, oversize Laval Rocket tee that was twenty years old if it was a day – _Ari’s dad must have played there,_ Kent thought distantly – and the sight of her twisted something in Kent so deep, it went to the very bones of him, a buried taproot of grief.

“Do you hug?” asked Star, holding out her arms. There was something impish about her smile that Ari had clearly inherited. “It’s fine if you don’t, of course, but on the offchance –”

Kent moved without quite meaning to move and stepped into Star’s embrace. He stiffened reflexively at first, and then her arms closed around his back, and something in him broke. She was taller than him, and blonde, and a mother, and nobody fitting that description had hugged him since he was eight years old – Jack’s mother had tried, but teenage Kent had been too nervous to let her close – and his breathing hitched at the doubled, tripled memory. She gave him a gentle squeeze, and he ought to have pulled away again, but instead his forehead leaned into her shoulder as he hugged her back harder than he’d meant to, harder than made sense for a first meeting, and Star let him stay where he was. Kent blinked his suddenly misty eyes and sucked in air, and when he finally stepped back, he felt eight years old again. His legs were weak; he wanted to sit down and sob somewhere private, and he hated that he both did and didn’t know why.

Star smiled at him, a little fond and a little sad, as though she somehow understood. It was more than Kent could handle; he ducked his head and said, gaze skittering off the floor, “We should head out soon. I’ll go grab my stuff.”

“Of course,” Star said, followed quickly by, “And who’s this lovely lady?” as Kit meowed and made an appearance.

Beelining for his room, Kent closed the door and knelt by the bed. Face buried in his folded arms, he squeezed his eyes shut on the terrible threat of tears, but they leaked out anyway, hot and shameful. He twisted his fists in the comforter and made himself think _fine fine fine, you need to be fine_ , until he could master himself.

And then he stood up, and washed his face, and gathered his bags to go. 


	13. Chapter 13

They were at the airport when Ari realised, all too belatedly, that he’d made a tactical error. There was no way his sharp-eyed mother hadn’t realised that Kent, the only member of the Aeros without a mother or mother-figure in tow, was the same person he’d called to ask her about; who he’d described as having no-one. It was a discomforting realisation, not least because it felt obscurely as if he’d betrayed a confidence. More immediately, however, he hadn’t realised how transparent his other feelings for Kent must be to a person who knew him well, because the second Kent was called over to be introduced to Rainbow’s grandma, his own mother raised an eyebrow at him, a knowing smile twitching her lips.

“What?” said Ari, a defensive flush rising to his cheeks.

“You were _watching_ him,” his mother said, smugly.

“I wasn’t,” lied Ari, who had in fact been staring at the narrow taper of Kent’s waist above the swell of his ass.

“It’s all right, sweetheart.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’m only judging a normal amount.”

“I’m going over there now,” said Ari, and moved away to the sound of his mother’s laughter.

“Paxer!” said Rainbow, waving him over to join their group. “Come meet my abuela!”

Desperately grateful for the distraction, Ari allowed himself to be waved over to Kent’s side, where a beaming Rainbow was towering over a short, immaculately coiffed woman in her late sixties. Ari shook her hand, which was functionally engulfed by his own, and tried his best not to loom.

“Such a big handsome man!” said Rainbow’s abuela, dark eyes twinkling. “You can call me Renata.” She leaned in slightly, pitching her voice as a conspiratorial stage whisper. “I’m single, you know. Widowed, but it was _such_ a long time ago.”

Rainbow looked scandalised. “Abuela, oh my _god_. Don’t flirt with Paxer!”

Renata poked her grandson in the ribs; none too gently, if his quiet _oof_ was anything to go by. “I’ll flirt with whom I please, and don’t _you_ take the good lord’s name in vain! Now, Rafael, are you going to introduce me properly or no? I cannot believe that such a man was christened _Paxer_.”

Weakly, Rainbow said, “This is Ari, abuela.”

“Ari,” said Renata, trying out the name. “Ari who lives with Kent. It is lovely to meet you both.”

Beside him, Kent was shaking with silent laughter; Rainbow looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, ma’am,” said Ari, biting his cheek.

Renata nodded gravely. “Is he doing well, my boy?”

“ _Abuela_.”

“He’s doing very well,” said Ari, taking mercy on Rainbow. “A real team player.”

Renata beamed. “That’s good to know. I saw him fight that tall boy on the Jets, of course –” she reached up, tapping a gentle finger to the edge of Rainbow’s fading black eye, “– but it’s good to know he contributes in other ways.” She peered around the airport lounge, frowning slightly. “So much waiting about! Rafael, I do not want you drinking of course, you are far too young, but once we are on board, I would very much like a Corona.”

“I don’t know if the plane has Coronas, abuela.”

“Ridiculous!” snorted Renata. “What, all this NHL money and I can’t get a Corona? Let me talk to your captain!” And before Rainbow could protest this, she strode off towards Sheddy like a small, determined ship, her grandson trailing helplessly in her wake.

Kent finally burst out laughing. “Oh my god, that was amazing.”

“You think she’ll tell us embarrassing stories about baby Rainbow?”

“Let’s ask nicely at dinner and find out.”

As Ari’s mom walked over, boarding was finally announced, forestalling whatever she’d been about to say. All around them, players and their mothers, aunts and grandmothers began to line up in a vague approximation of order, funnelling down the tunnel to the tarmac. Having attended both prior mothers’ trips, Ari’s mom was already friendly with several of the other visiting women, and one such was Comet’s mother, Victoire, who ended up ahead of them in the tunnel. In typical mom-fashion, both women stopped moving to hug and exclaim over each other, while their sons and Kent exchanged amused eye contact.

“Come on, maman,” said Comet, when the hugging was done. “We’re holding up the line.”

“Oh!” said Victoire, hand sheepishly flying to her mouth. “Apologies.”

“It’s no trouble,” said Ari, as they resumed walking.

Comet shot him a grateful look, then raised a quizzical brow at Kent. “Where’s your mom, Parser?”

Ari’s stomach twisted in sympathy as Kent, visibly startled, schooled his features into a fake smile and forced a laugh. “I’m on my own,” he said.

“Oh, that sucks,” said Comet. “She couldn’t make it?”

Kent’s smile ratcheted tighter. “Something like that.”

Either Comet could take a hint or the _shut-the-fuck-up_ vibes that Ari was sending him finally penetrated his dense skull, because he left it at that and turned back to his own mother, who was murmuring something to him in Quebecois. Wanting to make sure Kent was okay, Ari opened his mouth to say he didn’t know what, only to be met with a tired, forced smile from his friend.

“It’s all right,” Kent murmured, looking anything but. “I knew people would ask.”

“I should’ve realised.”

“And done what, dude? It is what it is.”

Ari had nothing to say to that, and so was forced to chew on the sentiment as they boarded. Ushering his mother ahead so that she could have the window seat, he caught sight of Rainbow and Renata across the aisle and elbowed Kent, motioning with his head. Kent looked briefly confused, then snorted: somehow, the triumphant Renata had managed to procure a Corona, and Rainbow was looking on enviously as she drank.

“God bless Rainbow’s abuela,” Kent said, lips twitching.

“Amen,” said Ari, settling into his seat. He helped his mom get comfortable as Kent sat in turn, and for a moment, all three of them were silent.

Then, from the opposite row, Sheddy craned his head forwards and asked, “Hey, Parser – where’s your mom?”

Kent opened his mouth to reply, but Ari’s mother got there first. “I’m doing double duty this trip,” she said, leaning past Ari to give Kent a demonstrative pat on the knee. “Consider him under my wing.”

“Oh!” said Sheddy. “Nice one, eh?” And he flashed them all a thumbs up.

As Ari’s mom sat back, she looked quietly pleased with herself. Kent, for his part, looked stunned.

“Thank you,” he said, after a moment. “You, uh. You didn’t have to do that, but – thank you.”

Ari’s mom smiled at him. “You can thank me by waking me up when they start serving drinks. I got up abominably early for the drive this morning and I need a refresher.”

“Of course,” said Kent, and watched with no small degree of bemusement as she shut her eyes and rested her head on the window. After ten seconds, her mouth fell partway open as she visibly relaxed, and within a minute, she was snoring lightly.

Leaning closer to Ari, Kent whispered, “Is that an act?”

Ari chuckled. “Nope. She sleeps like a soldier. It’s maddening sometimes, but she’s always been able to do it. Shuts her eyes and –” he snapped his fingers, “– straight out.”

“Fuck,” said Kent, impressed.

“Right? My sister can do it too.” Ari sighed. “Not me, though.”

“Well, that’s a relief. For a moment there, I thought I’d have to hate you.”

They shared a grin at that, and the look on Kent’s face made Ari feel like there were moths in his throat.

 _Get it together,_ he told himself, and waited for the plane to take off.

_If things keep up like this, it’ll be a long roadie._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: references to past domestic violence.

On the first day of the roadie, Kent was asked a grand total of five times about the whereabouts of his mother before the team finally caught on to the fact that he was unaccompanied, and that perhaps this was a sensitive topic. He might’ve felt relief at the Aeros collectively buying a clue had it not come at the expense of his pride: now that they knew he was all alone, and for reasons other than “my mom couldn’t make it,” he flinched at the prospect of being pitied. Attending fathers’ trips with the Aces had been tortuous, but privately so – his dad knew how to be charming, and nobody from management who’d insisted on his presence was around to see through Kent’s practised discomfort. But ever since they’d landed in San Jose, he hadn’t been able to shake the suspicion that he was being talked about, stared at, clucked over. The fact that nobody had said anything to his face was irrelevant, and after a day spent sightseeing with his teammates and their mothers, he felt burned out from the constant emotional vigilance.

In the lull before team dinner, Kent was finally able to make his excuses and head up to his hotel room. Ari would doubtless be close behind him – Star had expressed a desire to nap and shower in her own, separate room on the mothers’ floor after the day’s activities – but until then, Kent was alone.

His plan, inasmuch as he’d had one, had been to shower and change into something comfortable for dinner. But as soon as he reached his bed, exhaustion settled on him like a heavy fog. He sat down, got as far as pulling off his shoes, and then tipped over sideways, lying the wrong way up on top of the covers. He pressed his face into the plush white comforter, wishing Kit was there to knead his shoulders and purr in his ear, and swallowed against a rush of grief and yearning. Kent had gone most of his NHL career – most of his life, even – without having to think or feel about his mother where people could see him, and as a result, he’d fallen into the habit of not thinking about her at all. It hurt too much.

In some sick way, it would’ve been easier if he’d ever been able to hate her. If he’d never overheard that final, awful argument where his dad had threatened to kill them both, then he could’ve grown up believing that she’d abandoned him out of selfishness or cruelty or simple neglect, leaving him hardened to the entire concept of mothers. But instead, he knew she’d tried; he knew she’d been battered and terrified, and had clung to the belief that she’d never come back for him only out of fear for both their lives. Nor had he blamed her for what had happened once she was gone: his dad had never hit him while she was there, for all that he’d yelled and threatened and broken things around him plenty of times before. More than once, Kent had used this apparent immunity to put himself between his mother and his father’s rage, and it had worked: a blow stopped mid-swing, a glass unthrown, an excoriation softened. After his mother left, it took nearly two weeks for his father to start hitting him. Even Kent hadn’t seen it coming – how could she have known? They’d both thought he was inviolate, and they’d both been wrong. Kent had wanted to find her and beg for rescue, but his father’s threat had worked on him, too: he hadn’t wanted to get it wrong and risk her being killed.

He thought of Star and the easy, loving banter she shared with Ari; of Victoire, fussing over Sheddy’s windswept hair as if he were still her little boy and not a grown NHL captain; of Renata, brisk and bold and so visibly proud of Rainbow that it almost hurt to look at. He thought of Yvette, smiling softly at baby Camille, oblivious to how Comet had looked at them in turn, like his whole world was found in two people; he thought of Hollis and Maya and Keller, and how much Sheddy loved them.

And he thought, as he’d been trying so hard not to think, of Swoops and his pregnant wife, Tisha, back in Vegas; how goddamn excited he’d been to tell Kent at the end of last season that he was going to be a dad. He’d told Kent before he’d told anyone else, when it was technically still too early for anything to be certain, and then the Falcs had won the Cup and Jack had come out on live TV, and Kent –

He shied away from thinking about it all, eyes leaking salt onto the comforter. He’d refused to look ahead in the schedule, not wanting to know when the Aeros would travel to play the Aces, but Tisha was due in mid-November regardless. Sooner or later, he’d see Swoops again, and when he did, he’d most likely be a dad, too; an awesome, loving hockey dad who never chased his wife away or raised a hand to the child she left behind, or left that child to grow up wondering what he had to offer the world aside from hockey – 

The door to the room clicked open.

“Kent?”

He didn’t answer, too wrung out from feeling things he didn’t want to feel. Soft footsteps sounded as Ari approached, followed by a gentle _thmp_ as he knelt by the bedside.

“Hey,” Ari murmured. “I can clear out, if you want some space.”

Kent shook his head against the mattress. “No. Please stay.”

“All right.”

Kent forced himself to open his eyes, head rolling sideways to look at Ari. “You know I’m a total mess, right?”

“You’re not that messy.”

“Fuck off.” Kent snorted, rubbing his face as he sat back up. “Seriously. Why the fuck do you put up with me?”

“I’m not putting up with anything. I like you,” Ari said, simply.

Kent stared at him, hating the way his pulse spiked at the words. “Why?” he rasped. “What the hell is there to like? Seems to me, this friendship consists of me losing my shit every two days and you talking me off a ledge.”

Ari sat back on his haunches, a not-quite-smile on his lips. “I like your taste in music. You’re funny. You’re thoughtful, kind. I feel like saying your hockey is gorgeous should be a free space, but I’ll say it anyway. You laugh at shitty TV with me, and you don’t chirp my cooking even when it’s bad.”

“I like your cooking,” Kent said lamely, aware that his cheeks were burning.

“I like that you like it, then. And I like your cat, too.” He cocked his head onside. “Do I need to keep listing reasons? Because I can, if you want me to. Just… it’s not something that has to be, like, quantified, you know? Brains and feelings are weird as shit, and you can’t always put it all into words in a way that makes sense. I just like you because I like you. You’re likeable.”

“God.” Kent laughed, because it was that or spontaneously combust from embarrassed, misplaced wanting. “You’re likeable too, you asshole. You’re like a goddamn Disney prince.”

“Nuh-uh,” said Ari. “Pretty sure Landeskog has the Disney prince market cornered.”

Kent waved a dismissive hand. “The blonde Swede market, sure. You’re more like that guy from Tangled, but less douchey.”

Ari grinned. “You’ve seen Tangled?”

If possible, Kent’s cheeks heated further. To deal with this, he grabbed the pillow and smacked Ari with it. “Oh, like you’re too good to get stoned and marathon kids’ films? Fuck off.”

“You fuck off!” laughed Ari, grabbing the business end of the pillow and wrestling for control of it. “Also, for the record –” he wrenched the pillow away from Kent, “– I am _always_ down to get stoned and marathon kids’ films.” He gave Kent’s legs a cursory whack, then added, “Just not while my mom is here.” 

“Why? Does she not approve of the marijuanas?”

“Oh, she approves,” said Ari wryly, setting the pillow on his knees. “She’d just wanna join in, is all, and we don’t really have time for that this roadie.”

“Fair,” said Kent, chest twisting with an ache he refused to call jealousy.

They smiled at each other, the silence gentle with foolishness and unsaid things, until Kent coughed and looked away and said, in what he hoped was his normal voice, “So, uh. Do you want to have first shower, or can I?”

“Go ahead,” said Ari.

Kent grabbed his things and retreated to the bathroom, where he took a deep breath and studiously avoided his own reflection. He ran the shower until it was just the right side of too hot – fan off, so the mirror and glass fogged up – then slicked his hand with the hotel shampoo and jerked off under the spray, lip bitten to keep quiet. He tried not to think of Ari, but the faceless men who slipped in and out of his fantasies were nonetheless Ari-shaped, and he came with a quiet moan that refused to be stifled.

Afterwards, once he was dressed and dried, it was his turn to wait in the bedroom while Ari got cleaned up. He dicked around on his phone as much to occupy himself as to keep from thinking about whether Ari, too, was taking care of himself in there, and by the time Ari emerged, his damp hair slick and dark as seal-fur, Kent felt almost normal. That feeling lasted until the team and their mothers sat down to dinner and he was, once more, the only unaccompanied Aero. Even the coaching staff had brought their mothers, a quartet of little old ladies who’d banded together at one end of the table, their sons bracketing the group in pairs, and ordered a jug of sangria. Seated between Ari and Renata, Kent did his best to be cheerful and attentive – the latter task made easier when, to Rainbow’s deep embarrassment, his abuela began telling stories about his babyhood, all while pointedly sipping the wine he wasn’t allowed to drink – but by the time dessert was served, it was getting harder to smile.

And then, in what was announced as being a mothers’ trip tradition, each player took a turn to say something nice about what their mother – or aunt, or grandmother – meant to them.

It started with Roycroft and went around the table from there. The closer the storytelling came to Kent, the worse he felt. He didn’t know what would be worse – to be asked to speak, or be skipped entirely.

When it finally came to Rainbow’s turn, Kent was tense with nerves, so focussed on his own problems that he ended up blindsided when the rookie spoke.

“So, I love my mama,” Rainbow said, “and I wish she could’ve been here, too, but abuela – I wouldn’t have stuck with hockey without her. When my parents were working, she was the one who drove me to games and practises, and she was always proud of me, even when I screwed up. Like, not regular grandma-proud, where she’d just pretend I was perfect. She’d tell me what I did wrong, but then she’d tell me all this stuff I did right, too, so I never felt dumb about hockey, even –” he ducked his head, voice faltering a little in a way Kent hadn’t heard before, “– even when I felt dumb about everything else. ‘Cos it turns out I’m dyslexic, only I didn’t know until after I was done with school, so learning was hard for me. But I could always play. And I wouldn’t have had even that without my abuela.”

He fell silent, and everyone clapped, the same as they’d done for every answer. But Renata – fierce, funny Renata, who’d chirped and flirted with half the team without batting an eyelid – was suddenly crying, one hand over her smiling mouth and the other gripping Rainbow’s arm as he bent to murmur some quieter, more private words to her in Spanish.

As the applause died down, the table’s attention flicked onwards, wavering between Kent and Ari, demonstrably unsure which of them would speak. Kent looked desperately at his linemate. Ari met his gaze, calm and kind and encouraging, and somehow Kent was able to make a decision that ought to have been impossible.

“Uh,” he said, flushing awkwardly as all eyes turned his way. “So, obviously I don’t have anyone here with me, and I guess you’ve maybe been wondering about that. Only it’s not… it’s not something I can easily talk about, and even if I could, this is meant to be a happy dinner. So I won’t. But, uh. But I wanted to say that, uh, seeing everyone here, hearing what you have to say about each other… it’s special. You’re all really lucky. And it makes me feel a bit lucky, too, to be a part of this team. And if my mom was here –” he choked a little at the thought, “– I hope she’d think I was lucky, too.” 

He stared at the table as everyone clapped, and when Ari gently squeezed his shoulder, it warmed him all the way through. He didn’t look up as Ari began his own story about Star and the ways she’d supported him, but he listened all the same, and knocked his knee against Ari’s when he finished. The rest of the Aeros took their turns, and then, after what felt like an eternity, it was done; last drinks were drunk, the tab was paid on management’s dime (though every player tipped), and everyone made their way back to the hotel.

Kent and Ari said goodnight to Star in the lobby – she and some of the other women were headed out for a drink elsewhere, as none of them had to be awake for morning skate – and then headed up to their room. They were quiet as they entered, ducking around each other in a silent domestic ballet as they stripped down to their boxers, brushed their teeth and did whatever else needed doing. Some other night, they might’ve turned the TV on and picked something dumb to watch, but neither of them suggested it. Kent crawled into bed feeling like he’d been checked into the boards, heartwise, not certain if the impact had left him injured or only stunned.

“Night,” called Ari, voice soft from the opposite bed.

“Night,” Kent echoed, flicking out the lights.

He fell asleep sooner than he’d thought possible and dreamed twisty, unsettling dreams that vanished from recollection when he woke. With a game to play that evening, however, he had something solid and comprehensible to focus on, and so threw himself into the normality of it. Breakfast, morning skate, cooldown, watching tape, lunch, pre-game nap, dinner: everything passed in a blur of welcome activity, and by the time warmups rolled around, Kent was ready to go.

Playing in the Shark Tank was always fun, and this was no exception. The Sharks went at it hard and fast, and the Aeros met them hit for hit, shot for shot. By the end of the first, the Sharks were up 2-1, but the Aeros came roaring back in the second to take the lead 4-3, with Kent getting both the first equaliser and the go-ahead goal. Roycroft kept the team fired up at second intermission, and when they headed back out on the ice to start the third, Kent was tapped to go and speak to Pierre McGuire, who was doing his Inside the Glass commentary-and-interview schtick at their game. Inwardly, Kent groaned – McGuire was a tone-deaf, pompous creep who took way too much pleasure in slapping asses for someone who wasn’t a teammate – but, as Roycroft cheerfully pointed out to him, such was the price of scoring two important goals in the second.

Kent skated over to McGuire, plastering on his media smile while pointedly ignoring the Sharks’ bench. McGuire beamed unctuously, the combination of shiny bald pate and stupid round glasses making him look, Kent thought, like an egg with a face drawn on.

“Kent, you’re on a brand new team and you’ve got two big goals tonight,” said McGuire. “I know the Aeros are having their mothers’ trip, so are you trying to get a hattrick for mom up there?”

Time froze. In a compressed and tortured instant, Kent imagined the soundbite of whatever he said next being replayed on a Weird NHL compilation video, dissected on Twitter and otherwise made public in ways he didn’t care to contemplate – and then he remembered Ari beside him at dinner last night, and what he’d somehow found the courage to say. _I did it then. Why not now, too?_

“Actually,” he said, a beat later than he should’ve done, “my mom isn’t here tonight, but yeah, I’d like to get a hatty for her. I don’t know if she’s watching –”

“You don’t know if she’s watching?” McGuire broke in with a laugh, clearly thinking Kent was doing a bit. “She doesn’t watch all your games?”

“I don’t know,” said Kent, doing his best to keep his voice light and pleasant. “She left when I was eight. But I understand why it happened, and I’ve been thinking about her this trip – so yeah, I’ll try to get to her a hatty.”

Kent felt a deep, perverse satisfaction at the stunned look on McGuire’s face as realised he’d blundered over an invisible line. “Well, thanks for speaking to us, and good luck in the third!” McGuire said hurriedly, and Kent smiled extra sharply as he skated back to the Aeros’ bench, hands shaking inside his gloves.

Ari took one look at him as he hopped over the boards and bumped their helmets together. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Kent said, “but I’m gonna play some hockey about it.”

Ari laughed at that, and Kent laughed with him. Out on the ice, the puck dropped as Kivvy won the faceoff, and then the game was back on in earnest, the Sharks fighting hard to reclaim the lead. Kent would’ve been after a hatty regardless of Pierre fucking McGuire, but thinking about his mother, about the prospect of her somehow seeing the game and knowing he’d done something for her on ice, just once… it lit him up, a mix of hope and rage and sheer competitive drive, and after seventeen minutes of play where both goalies stood on their heads, Ari turnstiled Brent Burns for a breakaway and shot the puck forward to Kent, who crossed the blueline, got Martin Jones to bite on a feint and buried it glove-side.

The goal light came on. Kent whooped and fistpumped as hats started flipping onto the ice, and then he was hitting the boards, a bright thump of bodies as his teammates crashed in to celebrate.

“Fucking beauty!” Ari yelled, and grappled Kent into a hug. Comet wrapped his arms around the pair of them, leaving Sheddy and Viking to administer gleeful head-pats. The Sharks pulled their goalie after winning the subsequent faceoff, but Hagrid held solid even in the face of an extra attacker, and with ten seconds left, Rainbow scored on the empty net.

When the final horn sounded, the Aeros had won 6-3, and Kent was awarded first star of the game. He skated the requisite circle under the blinding lights of the Shark Tank, said something breathless and generic to the woman who poked a mic in his face about it, and then vanished back down the tunnel to celebrate with his teammates, a tiny sliver of painful joy tucked deep inside his chest.

_That really was for you, mom. Wherever you are._


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: homophobic slurs, verbal abuse, reference to past suicidal ideation

The whole team was jubilant after the Sharks game, Ari included. His own good play was one thing, but seeing Kent score a hatty like that, when the whole trip was functionally punching him right in the childhood trauma, made him feel giddy and proud and something so much more than fond, he didn’t dare to name it. On an ordinary roadie, they might’ve risked going out for drinks even though they were playing the Kings tomorrow, but with the mothers present, it would likely be room parties, the hotel bar or nothing. Even so, the victory music pumped loudly through the locker room, and when Kent was given the tiara for the second time, he accepted it with a beaming real smile, saying, “Let’s go two for two tomorrow, boys!”

Ari was one of the first in the showers and made sure he was quick about it. Not that he made a habit of looking at Kent in there – or at anyone else, for that matter – but the way he was feeling right now, he didn’t quite trust himself to be polite. As such, he was already half dressed when Kent emerged from his own quick wash, a towel around his hips and his cowlick sticking up where he’d ruffled his hair into semi-dryness. Ari realised a beat too late that he was staring and turned away, busying himself in his stall while Kent dressed beside him. He was fumbling for an appropriate topic of conversation when Kent’s phone started ringing, the tone shrill and generic.

“Your adoring public calling to congratulate you?” he said, grinning as he laced his shoes. Kent didn’t answer, and when Ari took his foot off the bench and looked up, he realised why: Kent’s face was ashen, lips white as he stared at the ringing phone.

“Fuck,” Kent whispered.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Pierre _fucking_ McGuire.” Kent ran a shaky hand through his hair. “He asked me if I was going to score a hatty for my mom because of the trip, and I said I would, I didn’t _think_ –” He barked a bitter laugh and tipped the phone to show Ari the screen.

 _Dad calling_ , it said.

Ari’s stomach dropped.

“You don’t have to answer,” he murmured fiercely, fighting an urge to wrap Kent up in a hug.

“Yeah, I do.” Kent squeezed his eyes shut. “He’ll just keep calling otherwise. It’s a deal we have: he doesn’t call me unless he has to, and I answer when he does.” And before Ari could protest any of this, Kent took a breath and hit call receive.

The phone was barely halfway to his ear when the voice on the other end, clearly audible, snarled furiously, “ _What the fuck do you mean, you understand why she left?_ ”

Several players in adjacent stalls jerked their heads up at that, Sheddy included, the sound of anger incongruous and unwelcome in a post-victory locker room. Kent, facing into his stall, didn’t see, but Ari caught Sheddy’s eye as he made to come over and signed furiously for him not to.

“I would’ve thought that was obvious,” said Kent, his voice a flat monotone. He held the phone a good handspan away from his ear, clearly anticipating being yelled at, but accidentally ensuring that what came next was jarringly audible to those nearby.

“ _Don’t sass me, you fucking ungrateful faggot! You know how this makes me look? What people will think?”_

“They won’t think anything that isn’t true,” said Kent. He was visibly shaking, and Ari couldn’t stand it anymore: he grabbed Kent’s free hand and squeezed it hard, needing him to know he wasn’t alone. Kent gripped back, his eyes still closed, and weathered the angry tirade that followed.

_“Listen here, boy. I never raised a hand to you that you didn’t deserve, and the same is true of her. You want to play the boo-hoo card to get laid, that’s one thing, but you keep your mouth shut about her and me where the cameras are, or so help me God, I’ll –”_

“Or what?” snapped Kent, a furious tremor in his voice. “You’ll fly up here and wail on me for old time’s sake? Track her down and hurt her? Ring up management and badger them again about how I ought to be playing different until they get pissed off and screen your calls? You can’t do jack, and you know it.”

_“You disrespectful little –”_

“Goodbye, dad,” said Kent, and hung up. He dropped his phone on the ground and wrenched his hand out of Ari’s to continue dressing, yanking his shirt so hard over his head that one of the buttons pinged off. The whole room was silent around them: not everyone had overheard the entire conversation, but enough people had caught at least a bit of it to be proximally shaken. Ari shared a meaningful look with Sheddy, whose expression betrayed his powerful desire to reach through a phone and cold-cock a man he’d never met before, and finally let himself feel the body-blow of what Kent’s dad had said.

_Don’t sass me, you fucking ungrateful faggot._

The venom of it alone left Ari nauseated. It wasn’t a word he’d heard from anyone in the Aeros organisation, but he’d heard it plenty in juniors, and even when it hadn’t been directed at him, it had hurt. For all that he’d been desperate to find other queer players, he’d never thought for a second that the slur’s deployment was of any use to him in that department, because ultimately, it always said more about the speaker than the subject. Hearing it thrown at Kent was no exception. All it did was prove a thing that he’d already known – that Kent’s dad was an abusive piece of shit – and hurt his heart into the bargain.

Beside him, Kent had finished dressing. He stood for a moment, breathing heavily, then reluctantly picked up his abandoned phone and stormed away from the locker room. Ari watched dumbly, frozen in a moment of indecision: he knew his mom would be waiting for him, but this was more important. He looked at Sheddy again, and for a blessing, his captain seemed to know exactly what the issue was.

“Go look after him,” said Sheddy. “I’ll explain to your mom.” And then, in a voice pitched for the whole room as Ari hurried out, “Anyone who talks about this outside the team is dead to me. You got that?”

The growled, collective answer in the affirmative was the last thing Ari heard as he exited the locker room, half-running to try and catch up with Kent. Ari called out for him to wait, but Kent only walked faster. Cursing, Ari lengthened his stride and finally got ahead of him just as they reached the visitor’s entrance.

Kent wasn’t crying yet, but his eyes were red and his face was a mask of furious misery.

“Let me go,” he croaked, trying to dodge around Ari to the door. “I don’t want your pity.”

“This isn’t pity,” said Ari, blocking his way. “It’s concern. That was fucking awful, Kent, and you shouldn’t have to ride it out alone. What he said to you –”

“– is nothing he hasn’t said before.”

“That makes it worse, not better!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Kent shouted, shoving at Ari’s shoulder but leaving his hand in place. Hot tears spilled down his shame-blotched cheeks. “He’s a piece of shit, but so am I, and you shouldn’t – you shouldn’t _care_ like this, I’m not worth it, I’m –”

“Like fuck you’re not!” Ari shot back, appalled and aching. He covered Kent’s hand with his own, squeezing it against his collarbone, heart pounding wildly. “I don’t know what you think you’ve done that’s so terrible, but it’s not gonna make me think less of you.”

Kent barked a sound that was awfully close to a swallowed sob. “You really think that?”

“Try me.”

A beat of silence followed. Another. Kent smiled a ghastly, frightened smile and said, “I’m exactly what he said I am.” Ari stared at him, uncomprehending, and Kent laughed, high and manic. “A fucking faggot, Ari.”

Time froze. Ari stared at Kent, who looked like he was braced for a blow, and slowly laced their fingers together against his chest.

“Well,” he said shakily, “that makes two of us.”

Kent’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m bi.”

“You… what?”

Kent looked utterly lost. Gently, Ari said, “I’m bisexual, Kent. You know what that is?”

“I’m – I mean. Yeah, I know what that, uh – I know, I just… I never heard anyone admit, uh, say it before. Like that.” He took a deep breath, clearly gathering himself, and said, “So you, what – you just see women, right? Keep the other stuff on the DL?”

“I see who I want to see,” said Ari. “Kent, I’m out to the team; to the core, to management. They knew before they offered me my big contract. It’s obviously not public, but it’s not an issue, either.”

“Oh, god,” Kent whispered. He looked like he’d been punched. His lips twisted up in the most heartbreaking not-smile Ari had ever seen. “It really is just me, then.”

“Just you what?”

“Just me who can’t have that.” He laughed again, small and sad. “It’s why the Aces traded me.”

“Fuck,” said Ari, because what else was there to say? “Fucking _fuck_ – that’s such fucking bullshit, what the actual fuck? I’m so fucking sorry, Kent, Jesus Christ –” and he finally did what he’d wanted to do since the phone had rung, and gathered him into a hug.

Kent sobbed against his chest, just once, and clung on like he’d fall down if he didn’t. Ari cradled the back of his head, his throat so tight with feelings that he couldn’t have spoken then if winning the Stanley Cup depended on it. They rocked together, a useless dance , and all at once, the absurdity of having this conversation in a fucking SAP Centre hallway hit him square between the ribs.

“Come on,” he rasped, aware his own eyes were prickling. “We need to be somewhere else for this. Hotel?”

“Hotel,” Kent echoed, reluctantly lifting his head.

They staggered outside like drunks on the unpleasant edge of sobering up, the night air cool on Ari’s overheated face. Somehow, he managed to get his phone out and summon a rideshare, bundling them into the back of an unfamiliar car and sitting in exhausted, painful silence as they rode back to the hotel. He tipped the driver extravagantly, an arm around Kent’s shoulders as he steered them both through the lobby, over to the lifts and up to their room, until they were finally, safely inside, the rest of the world locked away.

Kent kicked off his shoes, contemplated the available furniture options, and then climbed onto his bed, a trace of defiance in his face as he lay his head on the pillows and his body under the covers. Ari removed his own footwear and, with only minimal hesitation, sat down beside him, but on top of the comforter, body propped up on one elbow as he lay face to face with Kent.

Silence reigned for several long seconds, until Kent sighed raggedly and ran a hand over his face.

“All right,” he murmured. “All right. So. You want the long version or the short version?”

“The long version,” Ari said carefully, “but only if you want to tell it.”

“Okay.” Kent took a moment to muster his words, then fixed his gaze on the ceiling and said, voice halting and soft, “I guess it starts with my dad, but you know that part. It’s not that he actually knows anything; it’s just the worst thing I could be to him, so it’s what he always calls me when he’s pissed. And it started… well. You can guess when it started. And eventually, I figured out he was right.”

“He’s not, though,” said Ari, unable to bear the point going unargued. “That fucking word, that’s not – you don’t have to think of yourself like that just because he does.”

Kent looked briefly overwhelmed, then managed a shallow nod. “Right,” he said, voice hitching. “So. I’m – I’m gay, I guess. I mean. I don’t guess. I am. I am gay.” Laughter and tears bubbled out of him; he wriggled upright with his back to the headboard, knuckling salt from his eyes. “Fucking hell. It’s just a word. Just another word. Why does saying it feel so different?”

Chest aching, Ari said, “Because you’re not trying to hurt yourself with it. Because it’s yours, not his.”

“Fuck.” Kent pressed his palms to his eyes, head bowed, then finally lifted them away. This time, he stared at the opposite wall, hands flat on the bed as he spoke. “Eventually, I went to the Q. And that was where I met Jack. Zimmerman. Zimms. And he was the first good thing in my life that was mine, and I loved him so fucking much, even though I didn’t know how to say it right, or at all.” He looked at Ari, a ghost of a smile on his face. “We were so fucking stupid, you know? We were dumb and horny and we played so goddamn _good_ together, and it all just… blended into one thing. And he was, was dealing with so much pressure, taking anxiety meds and fending off press for years because of his dad, and I had no fucking clue what that felt like then, because I was just happy to have him, to have anyone at all. To be in a house where I didn’t get hit.”

Ari took his hand again, relieved beyond measure when Kent returned the contact. Kent looked down at their intertwined fingers, and some of the light went out of his expression.

“Our final year in the Q, he never wanted to talk about what was happening next. I kept asking him about it, how we’d keep in touch, how we’d manage to play together again. I didn’t think he’d want me if I wasn’t on his line. And he kept pulling away, getting quiet and stressed, but I was so fucking scared of losing him that I made it worse, I kept asking and asking and asking –”

“You were a kid,” said Ari, softly. “You were both just kids.”

“We were,” said Kent, voice thick, “but I still nearly killed him.”

Ari sucked in air. He’d temporarily forgotten about Zimmerman’s overdose – a luxury, it seemed, that Kent had never had. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“Can’t I?” Kent asked, bitterly. “He already had enough to deal with; he didn’t need his headcase friend with bennies making him worry about being outed in his draft year, too. But that’s what he got, and I got to find him catatonic in the bathroom.”

“Kent –”

“Don’t.” It came out sharp; Kent winced and flexed his hand against Ari’s. “Just… not now, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Kent took a deep breath and began again, softer than before. “So, you probably know the next part, too. Zimms missed the draft, and I went first instead of him. To Vegas. And I know, I know everyone says it could’ve gone either way, that they might’ve taken me first regardless, but that’s bullshit. They’d wanted Zimms, and they told me so outright.”

“What the fuck?”

“Apparently,” said Kent, voice raw with old grievances, “they had the idea he’d overdosed because of me, because I’d made him party too much. They didn’t buy that he’d OD’d on anxiety meds, because Bad Bob’s kid would _never_ have needed _that_ pussy stuff.”

“What the _fuck_?”

“Every time I screwed up, I got a lecture on how I shouldn’t have sabotaged my draftmate if I wasn’t man enough to fill his shoes. Always privately, of course. Not like they wanted the team or the media to know I hadn’t been their first choice. But that’s how it was, with the Aces. And the irony is, I wouldn’t have even known how fucked up it was if I hadn’t played with Zimms; if I hadn’t heard his dad talk about coaching culture. But I figured, they were still basically right about me, even if they didn’t know it, just like my dad was right, too. At the end of the day, I was still the reason why Zimms wasn’t there, so I had to take the punishment and prove I deserved his spot.”

“Kent,” said Ari, helplessly. He felt physically sick just hearing about it, skin hot with a rage that was years too late and so had nowhere to go but inwards, burning the meat and muscle of his heart.

Kent just nodded and looked away, fingers twisting. “So. So, this is the bad part. Even though I fucked him up, I always hoped Zimms would come back to me, somehow. Like, he cut me off for ages after he overdosed – wouldn’t answer my texts, my calls, nothing – but I figured I deserved it, you know? But I messaged him when he got into college, and he finally replied. I went to see him there after I got the Calder, and I was so fucking excited, but the whole time, he was… distant. And it hurt, especially when he stopped really talking to me again afterwards, but I figured, you know, I took his spot. The Aces really had wanted him, and instead of playing in the NHL he was stuck at this random college doing NCAA shit. I kept waiting for him to stop being mad, to reach out to me, but his graduation was coming around and he still hadn’t said anything. So I just… showed up, at his college. And there was a party going on, but he asked me upstairs to talk anyway, and I just…”

He fell silent again, chest rising and falling too quickly. Ari ran his thumb across the back of Kent’s hand, but he pulled away from it, folding both arms tight across his chest.

“I kissed him,” Kent said in an angry rush. “I kissed him and he told me no, and I told him I missed him and he didn’t _care_ , and I tried to pitch him on the Aces anyway but I did it all wrong, I insulted his team because I thought he’d hated playing there only he _didn’t_ , so he got mad at me and I just – I lost it at him.” He was crying again, tears seeping down his cheeks. “I said the worst shit, Ari. I knew just how to hurt him, and I wanted him to hurt because _I_ was hurting and he _didn’t care_ , and then his boy – his boyfriend, Bitty, the guy he kissed when he won the Cup – he overheard it all, and I just… walked off, without trying to fix it. And I realised he’d never loved me at all, and I’d managed to ruin it anyway.” He scrubbed a wrist across his eyes. “I still haven’t even apologised.”

“And has he?”

“Has he what?”

“Apologised.”

“What the fuck does he have to apologise for?”

“For cutting you out. For making you feel like you didn’t matter.” Ari caught Kent’s gaze and held it, desperate for him to understand. “Even if he didn’t love you back – even if it was just friends with bennies – he still owed you better than letting you find him dying and then _ghosting_ you, fuck! You could’ve ended up with the most supportive, rainbow-friendly team in the league, whoever that is – a team that always wanted you instead of him – and he still should’ve told you he needed space instead of just going dark.”

“It’s not like I was a saint, either!”

“I didn’t say you were,” said Ari. “Just… you’re talking about this like it was all your fault, but from where I’m sitting, he fucked things up, too.”

“I’ll… have to think about that,” said Kent, and looked away again. He toyed with the edge of the comforter, and Ari, who was having so many feelings about all this that he’d stopped trying to keep track of them, had to fight down an inappropriate urge to push him on that point. Instead, he swallowed hard and waited out the rest of the story, and finally, Kent started to speak again.

“So. Last season. Zimms is on the Falcs, and I’m – I’m realising, for the first time in my adult life, that there’s no point waiting around for him. But I didn’t know what to do next, you know? I didn’t… I didn’t know how to talk about it, how to try and unload all this, this _bullshit_ –” he cut an angry hand through the air, “– to anyone on the Aces. Like, the guys I was close with, how the fuck was I meant to sit down with any of them and be like oh, by the way, you actually know nothing about how my life is, and also it sucks a lot in ways you can’t fix? And I thought about going to therapy –” he shot Ari a nervous, defiant glance at this, as though expecting to be mocked for it, “– but if management found out, they would’ve lost their shit, and I didn’t want to deal with the fallout from that, either. So instead, I shoved it all aside to deal with later, tried to focus on playing good hockey, being a good teammate, getting set up to sign ahead of my UFA year. Regular stuff.

“And then the Falcs won the Stanley Cup, and Jack kissed his boy on TV.”

Kent fell silent again, staring hard at his hands. “The guys on my team… my closest buddies were cool with it. But a lot of them weren’t. And I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. Our season was already over, you know? Not exactly a time for locker room speeches. So everyone drifted away from Vegas to do offseason stuff – everyone except Swoops, because his wife, Tisha, her family is from Vegas and she’s pregnant right now with their first kid, and she wanted to stay close to them. So me and Swoops hung out a bit over the offseason. And I thought, maybe, maybe I could come out to him. Maybe I could even come out to management. Because Zimms had already done it, right? He was out, and the Falcs clearly loved him, so maybe it’d be good for me, too.

“And then, the Aces. They called me in for contract talks, like, a week out from training camp. Wanted to get me locked up ahead of my UFA year. And they’re smiling, they’re happier to see me than they’ve ever been before. They’ve got the contract on the table, my agent loves it. And then the GM.” Kent started shaking, body and voice, his hands clenched into fists. “The GM says to me, he says, _You know, Parson, we owe you an apology. If we’d ended up with Zimmerman, we would’ve had a fag as the face of the franchise._ And then he _laughed_. And everyone else laughed with him.”

Ari felt his heart freeze up. He wanted to scream on Kent’s behalf – on his _own_ behalf, _that could’ve been me on another team_ , _what the fuck sort of people say something like that?_ – but couldn’t do anything other than listen.

“The worst part is,” Kent said, “I almost signed with them anyway. I figured, if this is what the Aces think, then why would any other team be different? What do I have to lose? But I reached for the pen, and I just… had to know. I had know if everything I’d done for the team – I’d won them a Cup, I had the C – if it would maybe make a difference. I thought, fuck, maybe it’s just because Zimms is a stranger to them, you know – like, they didn’t know how to see him as anything other than the random queer guy. So I put the pen down and I said, _just for the record, you should know that I like men, too_. And the GM glared at me and said that wasn’t funny, and I told him I wasn’t joking, and suddenly no one was laughing anymore. They took the contract back, said they needed to reconsider, and my agent was furious that I’d put him on the spot like that, but what the fuck else was I meant to do?

“I went home again, unsigned. And I realised, all of a sudden, that I didn’t really have anything. I didn’t have Zimms, I didn’t have a contract, nothing I’d ever done for the Aces mattered, and I sure as shit didn’t have a family.” Voice raw with grief, Kent finally looked at Ari. “So I started drinking. I drank so much, I didn’t care if I never stopped; if I never woke up after. And I don’t… I don’t quite remember the next part properly, but Swoops – apparently I phoned Swoops while I was looking for pills, my pain pills from when I hurt my ankle, because he was the one who’d helped me when I was on IR and I was too drunk to find where he’d put them. I don’t quite know what I said to him, but it freaked him out enough that he called me an ambulance, and the next thing I know, I’m in hospital being treated for alcohol poisoning.”

Ari opened his mouth to say he didn’t know what, but Kent caught his eye and not-quite-smiled as he cut him off. “I don’t want to die, for the record. It was a one-time thing. But anyway, the GM came in while I was there to tell me that they were arranging a trade – he looked at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe – and it’s not like I wanted to go, but I sure as shit didn’t want to stay, either. And then, maybe fifteen minutes later, Swoops came to see me, and I blurted out that I was being traded. And he was furious, he was so goddamn upset – he even thought it was his fault for calling the ambulance, only I told him no, it’d been in the works before that – but when he asked me why, what had happened to make me so upset, why the Aces wanted me gone in the first place, I just… couldn’t tell him.”

“Why not?” asked Ari, pained and confused all over again. “I thought you said he was one of the guys who was cool with Zimmerman coming out?”

Kent smiled sadly. “He was. He is. But his wife is Vegas-born, and she’s pregnant. If I’d told Swoops the truth, he would’ve gone straight to management and chewed them out and gotten his dumb ass traded along with mine, and then Tisha would’ve had to pack up her nursery and figure out childcare in a whole new state – in a whole new country, maybe – without her family there to help, and I couldn’t be responsible for that. So I just kept telling him it was nothing, over and over, and he knew I was lying to his face, and I knew he knew, and eventually he got so mad about it that he just walked out. And then they discharged me and I came home, and the next day I was traded. And then I was here.”

Ari stared at him, appalled and furious and heartbroken all over again. “And you still haven’t spoken to him about it? To any of them?”

Kent shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “He texted me a few times. All the guys did. I just told them I wasn’t going to talk about it and wished them a good season. Eventually, they stopped asking.” He gave a pained huff and smiled crookedly. “So, now you know the full Kent Parson story. Questions? Comments?”

Ari’s head was spinning; he felt like he could barely breathe. “I think,” he said, “that Vegas never deserved you and never will. I think you’ve dealt with more shit in your life than anyone should have to, ever. I think I want to fight way too many people for you who I can’t actually fight without getting arrested, and I think, most importantly, that we need to order the entire dessert menu and a bottle of wine from room service and watch trashy TV in a blanket nest _right the fuck now_ , possibly with some platonic spooning thrown in, because the sad gay energies in here are way too high and need to be balanced out by a fucktonne of happy gay decadence. Which is definitely a thing.”

Kent blinked at him, slowly. Kent stared. And then – sweetely, gloriously – Kent cracked a smile, a _real_ smile, albeit one that was watery at the edges.

“Happy gay decadence might be a bit of a stretch,” he said croakily. “Can we try for bitchy gay decadence instead?”

“Bitchy works,” said Ari, and felt his heart glow with Kent’s answering laughter.


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning, Kent woke up with the unfamiliar warmth of Ari pressed against his back. For a dizzying moment, he flushed all over, groggy with hope and shock and lust, until he remembered the game, the call, the conversation and – crucially – what had come afterwards. The enormity of it thumped him in the chest like a medicine ball, and for several long minutes, all he could do was lie there, stunned, while Ari slept on beside him, sweetly oblivious.

Kent had told Ari the truth of himself, and Ari hadn’t flinched. Ari had believed him; Ari, who was bisexual and out to his team – to _their_ team, including the management – in a way that maybe Kent could be, too. Ari, who’d bought him wine and cheesecake and made him happy, laughing with him as they chirped a terrible action movie. Ari, who’d stayed with him when Kent had finally fallen asleep, and who’d opted to sleep there, too. 

Ari, who Kent was stupidly in love with.

The quiet admission filled him up like helium, until he was half convinced he might start to float. Almost, he felt giddy – and then the fear came, crowding his lungs. Scrambling out of bed, he hurried into the bathroom and had what he only distant recognised as a panic attack, hyperventilating with his back to the wall as his vision tunnelled and white noise roared through his ears. He’d loved Jack, and it had nearly killed him – what if he did the same to Ari? What if the Aeros were happy for the team to have one queer player, but not two? What if Ari didn’t want him? What if he ruined their friendship by even asking? What if Ari _did_ want him, but management drew the line at players dating and made them separate? What if they broke up anyway and it all went wrong?

 _What if, what if, what if._ The terrible words thrummed through him like a second pulse, until he felt almost as bad as he had when his dad had called. He very nearly threw up, but at the last he swallowed his gorge and turned away, gasping. And then a new thought came to him: _What if I’d actually managed to die in Vegas?_

A chill spread through him at the prospect, but the cold brought clarity, too. Dying before he even met Ari – _that_ would’ve been the worst thing of all, but it hadn’t happened, partly due to sheer dumb luck, but mostly because, even at his worst, he’d still had Swoops in his corner: a friend who’d cared enough to fight for him when no-one else would, who’d called an ambulance and stopped him doing something irreparably stupid.

As his laboured breathing returned to normal, Kent felt newly sick with shame at having cut Swoops out. It was close enough to what Jack had done to him after the draft that it almost felt karmic, like learning that same hard lesson again, but from the other side. Pulling himself to his feet, he splashed his face with water and stared at himself in the vanity mirror. If Ari thought Jack owed him an apology for ghosting him, then at the very least, Kent owed the same to Swoops.

Padding back out into the room, he plucked his phone from the charger and checked the time: 6am. Mercifully, Ari was still asleep; Kent spared a look for him, breath catching with the sight, then returned to the privacy of the bathroom. Sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet, he shut his eyes and dialled Swoops.

Early as it was, Swoops picked up on the third ring, sounding equal parts shocked and worried. “Parser? Are you okay? You ignore me for weeks and then suddenly –”

“I’m fine, Swoops. And I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me. I had some shit that I needed to work out, but that’s no excuse. I’ve been an asshole.”

Rustling on the other end. “Fuck, Parse.” Swoops sounded exhausted. “I’ve been so fucking worried about you. That night when you called me –”

“I was messed up,” said Kent, voice cracking. “I already knew they’d be trading me, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Which is what your _friends_ are for!” Swoops all but shouted. Kent flinched into the silence that followed, and when Swoops spoke again, his voice was tense and bewildered. “Kent, you’ve been one of my closest buds for years, on and off the ice. We won a fucking _cup_ together, and I thought that meant something, you know? But then, out of nowhere, I have to call you a fucking ambulance because you’re fucked up about being _traded,_ and even in the hospital, not you or management or fucking God Allmighty himself can tell me what’s just happened – and then you send me the world’s most basic break-up text and ghost me from fucking _Houston_? What in the _literal goddamn fuck_ , Parse!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You deserved better than that from me; the whole team did, but you especially.” Kent’s throat tightened. “I just… I didn’t want you to get in trouble, too.”

“Get in _trouble_?” Swoops asked sharply. “What kind of trouble?”

“With management.”

“I don’t give a shit about management!”

“You should, though,” Kent said wearily. “Swoops, I wanted to tell you even before they traded me, but once I saw how they reacted, I couldn’t do it. I knew you would’ve tried to do something about it, and if they traded you, too – you’ve got Tish and a baby to think about now, and all her family’s in Vegas. I just.” He swallowed hard, not wanting to cry again. “I just didn’t want your life to get messed up.”

“Kent,” said Swoops. His anger was gone, replaced by choked concern. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, I promise. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Swear it on your kid.”

Swoops sucked in air. “I swear on my kid, I will not do anything stupid.”

“All right.” Kent laughed helplessly. “All right.” He took a deep breath, gripped the edge of the sink, and said, “I’m gay.”

Swoops was silent for two full seconds. Then, incredulously: “That’s _it_?”

“What the fuck do you mean, _that’s it_?” Kent snapped, absurdly wounded. “They fucking traded me for it – isn’t that enough?”

“Jesus, fuck, I didn’t mean it like that.” Swoops made an exasperated noise, so familiar that Kent could picture his expression down to the crinkled lines on his forehead. “I just… all this time, I figured there was something really dark going on, like you had a secret drug problem or you banged the GM’s niece or were in debt to the mob or some shit. Not that you just liked dudes.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Kent rasped.

“But that’s really it? That’s literally why they traded you? For being gay?” His incredulousness was building into anger, and Kent felt a surge of fondness for Swoops. He’d always believed that he’d be in his corner, but having confirmation of it made him feel stupidly warm.

“That’s really it,” said Kent, and proceeded to give Swoops an abridged version of the story he’d told Ari yesterday: everything except the stuff about his mom and dad, and what the team had done about the fathers’ trips.

By the time he was done, Swoops was breathing hard in outrage. “Those absolute fuckers,” he growled. “I’m gonna go in this morning and tear them all a new assho–”

“ _You promised_ ,” Kent shouted, shocked at his own vehemence. Panic spiralled through him anew, his phone case creaking as he gripped it too hard. “Swoops, you fucking swore to me you wouldn’t!”

“But –”

“ _You cannot do this to Tisha_ , Swoops, I fucking mean it!” He slumped back, head thunking against the wall tiles as he pressed a thumb and forefinger to his temples. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you, man. You’re a stupid good guy, but Aces management doesn’t give a shit about that. I gave them everything I had, and it still wasn’t good enough. They’d kick you out on your ass without a second thought, and then your wife has to give birth in fucking Florida or some shit.”

“Fuck,” said Swoops, and was silent for a long, pointed moment. Then he sighed, exhausted laughter creeping in at the edges. “I fucking hate this, Parser. You still should’ve told me straight up, but you’re right: if you’d told me all that in the hospital… man, I probably would’ve done something dumb. I just hate that I can’t do anything to help.”

“You are helping, though,” said Kent. “Just by talking to me and letting me apologise.” He swallowed. “I’ve really missed you, you know?”

“I’ve missed you too, you asshole.” He could hear the smile in Swoops’s voice, and felt relief shudder through him as he realised he was forgiven. “So has Scraps. Now that you’re gone he’s the shortest guy here, and he hates it.”

Kent laughed. “I’ll bet he does.”

“So, like. Can I tell him?”

“Tell him?”

“Tell him why you were traded. I don’t have to go into all the Zimmerman deets, but he’ll be cool with it. Or, I mean, you could always tell him yourself – I just figured you wouldn’t wanna have this conversation a second time if you didn’t have to.”

Kent shut his eyes. “You can tell Scraps,” he said. “And anyone else you trust to be good about it. But I’m fucking serious, Swoops, if this shit gets out before I’m ready – I really don’t want to deal with that, not right now.”

“You can trust me, cap.” And then, in a judgemental tone of voice, “Are the Aeros not treating you right? Because I’m down for throwing some big hits on your boys if you want me to.”

“I don’t,” said Kent, pulse ticking up. “It’s actually… don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s… so far, it’s been really nice, here.”

“Well, that’s something. It’s gonna be fucking weird to see you in an Aeros jersey, you know?”

“I know.”

“Well, good.” A hint of background noise filtered through, like cupboards opening. “Listen, I need to go help Tish – she’s gotten so big now, it’s crazy – but you’d better not ghost me again, okay?”

“I won’t,” said Kent, smiling. “I promise.”

“You’d better. Later, Parser.”

“Bye, Swoops.”

Kent hung up and huffed a laugh, staring at his phone _. I’ve still got Swoops,_ he thought, relieved and incredulous all at once. _I didn’t lose my best friend._

He stood up, swaying a little at the near-physical sensation of a weight being shed, and laughed again as he put his phone down to make use of the bathroom properly. He washed his hands when he was done, and his face, and did a double-take at how subtly different his own reflection suddenly seemed with so much secret fear and tension smoothed away.

Reclaiming his phone, he stepped back into the bedroom – and stopped, arrested by the sight of a sleep-mussed, shirtless Ari sitting up in bed, smiling around a yawn.

“Morning,” slurred Ari, dropping back onto his elbows. His hair was sticking up in wavy clumps; Kent wanted to finger-comb it, smooth it behind his ears. “We late?”

A beat passed before Kent fully processed the question and checked the time on his phone. “We’re right on it, actually.”

“Mint,” said Ari, sitting up and swinging his feet to the floor. Kent couldn’t tear his gaze away as he stood and stretched. All NHL players were fit, but comparatively few had the type of body that looked like it belonged in a high-end underwear catalogue. Ari was a beautiful exception: perfectly tanned, with powerful pecs above thick, defined abs, a stupidly cut Adonis belt and thighs that stretched the fabric of his boxer briefs almost as much as his ass did.

Ari grinned at him, eyes bright under long, dark lashes. “See something you like, or just browsing?”

Kent flushed all over, tongue thick in his mouth, while Ari froze in place, his expression conveying more eloquently than words the fact that he hadn’t quite meant to say that. They stared at each other, mutually mortified – and in Kent’s case, embarrassingly turned on – until Kent finally blurted out, “I called Swoops, just now. I apologised. I told him everything. And it, uh. It went well. We’re still friends. He gets it, and he forgives me, and we’re good.”

Ari’s face lit up. “That’s awesome, man. I’m proud of you.”

He moved like he was going to come in for a hug, then hesitated, the pair of them reminded all over again about the elephant in the room. Kent felt his cheeks heat, and was stupidly grateful when Ari said, “I’m gonna grab a quick shower, if that’s cool with you?”

“Mint,” Kent said faintly, and burned to the soles of his feet when Ari ruffled his hair in passing.


	17. Chapter 17

To Ari, the rest of the mothers’ trip passed in a haze of hockey and emotional turbulence. Ever since waking up together, every moment with Kent had felt charged, at least to him. He kept second-guessing how to act around him in a way he hadn’t before, achingly aware of their knees bumping at breakfast, the press of their shoulders on the plane, the crush of their armoured bodies during a celly. His mother clearly knew something had changed, but mercifully restricted her commentary on it to pointedly raised eyebrows and the occasional knowing smirk when Ari was being – to her eyes, at least – even more obvious than usual. Ari had always been amused that his teammates were, in general, heterosexually oblivious to his crushes on men, sometimes to the point of having to be hit over the head with it if he was chatting up a dude at the bar and they wanted in on the conversation, but with the way he was starting to feel around Kent, it felt screamingly incongruous that none of them had mentioned it. Even Hagrid, with his preternatural goalie instincts, had given no sign of noticing, and if his mother hadn’t been there to bear witness, Ari might’ve felt like he was gaslighting himself.

The morning after the big confession, they flew to LA to play the Kings and won in regulation, then spent the next day doing pre-arranged sightseeing before bussing over to spend the night in an Anaheim hotel, which meant that Kent, Ari and Ari’s mother spent a lot of time together. It wasn’t _quite_ awkward, but it was certainly something other than relaxing. Walking as a trio tended to be impractical, which meant a lot of splitting up into pairs while one or other of them trailed ahead or behind at a different pace, rotating in and out like an extra D-man. Paired with his mother, Ari alternately stared at Kent (if he was ahead) or babbled about the scenery (if he was behind), unable to talk about him while he was potentially in earshot. Paired with Kent while his mother roamed, his brain kept flashing uselessly through scenes from period dramas where the unmarried couple were discreetly chaperoned by a relative, which led to a series of impractically arousing fantasies about well-dressed men doing sinful things in private corners. These he (only a little guiltily) filed away for further, more private consideration, all while doing his level best not to act like they were on a date.

Hardest of all, however, were the times when Ari was left alone while Kent and his mother conversed about god knew what. He didn’t think she’d be crass enough to actually give him a shovel talk, veiled or otherwise, but the fact that he was too nervy to talk with her about Kent didn’t mean that Kent was unable to ask her or talk about Ari, and he drove himself skittish imagining all the ways it might go wrong. He knew from experience that his mother wouldn’t tattle on Kent without his permission, but even so, it took a great deal of strength not to ask her about it later that night, when he saw her to the door of her new room. Tongue-tied, he hovered uselessly on the threshold after they’d already said their goodnights, unable to find a suitably subtle thing to ask that might give him any clue whatsoever about her impressions.

With typical intuition, his mother smiled and leaned against the doorframe. “You know I don’t betray confidences,” she said, “but I like him a great deal.”

 _But does he like_ me _?_ Ari thought, a little desperately. Instead, he said, “I do, too.”

“So I’ve noticed,” his mother said. She hesitated, a look on her face that said she was choosing her words, then said carefully, “Some people get through life on so little kindness, they have no idea how kind they are themselves, or what it costs them; they’ve no healthy yardstick for it. They think nothing of giving so much more than they’ve ever thought to receive, but think the smallest decency a miracle. A person like that is easy to take advantage of, even unwittingly. The important thing is how you communicate about it.”

“Are you… are you shovel-talking _me_?” Ari asked, incredulous. 

“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” his mother retorted. “It’s only that – well. There is such a thing as being _too_ noble, if you take my meaning.”

Ari stared at her, nonplussed. “You’ve lost me.”

His mother sighed and rolled her eyes. “All right. Let me put it another way. Remember how you met Melody, with her broken-down car that you paid to fix?”

“Yeah?”

“And remember how you spent two weeks afterwards playing cat-and-mouse over text with her, because you were worried you’d done something _so_ nice, in her eyes, that she was coming onto you for all the wrong reasons?”

“Yes?”

“And then you ran into her again, and she spelled it out in person, and you finally believed her, and got a wonderful eight months out of it?”

“Yes?”

“Imagine she was someone for whom even sending that very first text was an act of tremendous courage. Imagine she was terrified of dependence, of being seen as someone with so little sense of self-worth that she’d attach herself to a stranger out of obligation, but who was nonetheless accustomed to rejection, and who therefore took your pointless attempt at taking the high-road as a pitying brush-off. She’d never have texted you again, and if you still ran into her afterwards, she’d have had her walls up high as you please, and you’d have gone away thinking that you’d spared her a duty, when really you’d so belittled her autonomy that you’d hurt her and chased her away.”

Ari opened his mouth. Shut it. Chewed on every gristly implication and made himself swallow the subsequent mouthful. “Ah,” he said, eloquently.

“Just so,” said his mother, and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Now, go get your rest; you’ve got the Ducks tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” said Ari, still reeling from the psychological KO, and staggered up to bed in a state of groggy wonderment that did nothing to stop Kent from showing up in his dreams.

The next morning, they rose earlier than usual to face the Ducks in a matinee game, which was always disorienting. Both teams were sluggish through the first, and Ari took a dumb penalty for high sticking in the second that led to a go-ahead goal against. He tried to keep his cool after that, but Getzlaf kept hounding Kent through the third, chirping him after whistles and trying to check him into the boards. It made Ari see red, and when Getzlaf took a particularly egregious run at Kent, the fact that Kent avoided the hit at the last minute didn’t stop Ari from yelling at him to drop his gloves and answer for it, the crowd roaring as Getzlaf smugly agreed. They circled each other as the refs blew the whistle, and Ari realised a beat too late that there was a reason he didn’t usually fight. Getzlaf swung at him; Ari caught the blow on the side of his cheek as he lunged in for a grapple, and then they were spinning, hands fisted in jerseys as they struggled for leverage.

“Fuckin’ _weak_!” Getzlaf panted, grinning as he caught Ari on the chin with a rabbit-punch. Ari growled in reply and swung a wild haymaker that caught Getzlaf on the ear. Getzlaf retaliated with a pair of body-blows: the impacts had Ari gasping, but they opened a space for him to get in an uppercut and then tackle Getzlaf hard to the ice, at which point the linesmen finally dragged them apart.

Each of them was sent to the box with five for fighting. Getzlaf stood his ground, yelling that Ari should’ve got an extra two for instigation, but he was running so hot that he swore at the refs and was told to either shut up or take an extra two himself for unsportsmanlike conduct. Ari grinned at him as they took their respective seats, then proceeded to ignore the trash that Getzlaf yelled at him through the partition, as irrelevant as the nearby fans banging their fists on the glass. He felt wrung out, elated, furious, sharp; his knuckles stung from the unaccustomed punishment. He drank his water and flexed his hands, and stared at the ice as Roycroft subbed Rainbow in as the top line centre. 

All at once, the anger left him, leaving behind a whirl of shame and uncertainty. Kent hadn’t asked Ari to step in for him; he hadn’t even been hurt. Ari had fought Getzlaf because of how _he_ was feeling, not because there’d been no other way to deal with things, and he’d damn near put his teammates on the PK as a result. And what did Kent even think of fighting, anyway? He was one of the very few NHL stars who’d never, as far as Ari knew, dropped gloves with anyone, even in juniors; the closest he’d come was wrestling in scrums. His stomach lurched as he remembered, far too late, that Kent had every reason to think badly of men who thought with their fists, and by the time he’d served his five, he felt that he’d utterly disgraced himself.

Back on the bench with Kent, he shot his linemate a covert glance, but Kent was too focussed on the game for Ari to discern anything useful from expression. Ari shoved the matter away and got back to concentrating on the goddamn Ducks: the Aeros were still down by one with seven to play, which meant they had time to recover.

But the recovery never came: Gibson stood on his head in a flurry near the finish, and despite Kivvy making a spectacular diving save to stop an empty netter, the Aeros came away with a regulation loss. It wasn’t the ending any of them had wanted, and as soon as Roycroft was done with his postgame speech, Ari was back to feeling ashamed of himself.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to Kent, as the pair of them started stripping off their gear.

“For what?” Kent grunted, not looking up from his skate laces.

“For fighting. It was dumb of me.”

“Getzlaf is an ass. He deserved it.”

Ari ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Yeah, but that’s not – that’s not a good enough reason, you know? I should’ve kept my cool. I would’ve been more use to you on the ice.”

Kent jerked his head up at that, a strange look on his face. “More use to me?”

“Yeah,” said Ari, mouth suddenly dry. “I mean, more use to the team, too, but – he was hounding you, and I hated it, but I should’ve shut him up with a goal instead.”

“Ari, you don’t need to apologise. A win would’ve been nice, but fighting’s part of hockey.”

“You don’t fight, though.”

Kent stared at him, his blonde hair dark with sweat. For a horrible moment, Ari thought he’d crossed a line, but then Kent’s lips twitched with amusement. “I don’t do lots of things,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to hate on you for doing them.”

Ari let out a rush of breath. “So we’re, uh. We’re good?”

Kent smiled and bumped their shoulders together, a slight flush on his cheeks. “We’re always good,” he said, softly.

“Good,” Ari managed in reply, and promptly bent down to focus on his own skates.

With the mothers’ trip over and a whole three days off before their next game – three days which included Halloween and the annual Halloween party, which did a lot to lift everyone’s spirits once Sheddy reminded them all – the team headed back to the hotel. For practical reasons, some of the mothers were flying straight back to their respective homes from Anaheim rather than detouring via Houston, but Ari’s mom, whose rental car was still in his driveway, wasn’t among them: she was going back to Galveston for what she’d called an “open-ended” stay with her friends before returning to Colorado. More out of manners than desire, Ari reiterated his offer to have her stay with him an extra day as they waited in the airport lounge, but she only laughed and told him he’d cramped her style quite enough already, which made Kent laugh out loud. Ari felt buoyed by that in a way he couldn’t articulate, and his mother shot him a knowing look that he stubbornly refused to interpret.

The flight home went smoothly and to schedule, and once they arrived in Houston, his mom insisted on being the one to drive them home through the twilight, on the not unreasonable basis that she was the only one who hadn’t played a hockey game that day.

“You kids can both sit in the back,” she chirped, snagging Ari’s car keys. “Go on. It’ll be like old times.”

“Who’s old?” Ari shot back, but otherwise made no protest, flashing a grin at Kent as they clambered into the back seat of his Rover. It was nothing like his childhood car, but sitting with a teammate in back as his mom put on her driving playlist nonetheless induced a powerful sense memory, as though he was ten years old again. He indulged in the timeworn familiarity of it, the sense of comfort, and let himself relax in companionable silence.

“Are you sure you won’t stay tonight at least?” he finally asked, as they neared his street. “You know you’re always welcome.”

“I know,” his mom replied, “but June’s meeting me for dinner at a roadhouse halfways between here and there – apparently she’s been dying for an excuse to go, and I’m it. Don’t worry, though; I’ll be back to bother you both again at Christmas.” She paused, glancing expectantly at Kent in the rearview mirror. “That is, assuming you don’t have other plans?”

“I, uh.” Kent looked like a deer in headlights, gaze flicking desperately to Ari. “I mean, I haven’t – I don’t really ever, uh – I mean, if I was in Vegas, I’d probably go see Swoops, but he’ll have the new baby this year and all his relatives there, so I don’t, um – but I don’t wanna, like, assume or impose or whatever –”

“Of course you’re invited to Christmas with us,” said Ari, faintly appalled that this was even a question. “Kent, you live with me. Even if you had sixteen invites to other places stuck on the fridge, you’d always be welcome to stay.”

“Oh,” said Kent, swallowing. Ari’s fingers twitched with the urge to reach across the middle seat and take his hand. “In that case, I’d love to come.”

“Excellent!” said Ari’s mom, followed quickly by, “Oh look, we’re here! Home again, home again, Jason the dog.”

Kent did a double-take. “Jason the _dog_?”

Ari flushed, waving a hand. “It’s a family thing.”

“You know the old nursery rhyme, To Market, To Market?” his mother asked, parking up to the side of her rental. Kent shook his head, and she laughed. “Fair enough. Well, there’s a line at the end about home again, home again, jiggity jog, but we had a dog called Jason when I was growing up, so we started saying Jason the dog instead.”

“Oh,” said Kent, and laughed a little himself. “That sounds really nice, actually. I like it.”

With that, they got out and started unloading bags, Ari’s mom transferring hers to her rental while Kent and Ari took their own into the house. Kit came galloping up to meet them, meowing frantically: Kent scooped her up and hugged her, and she instantly switched to purring into his neck, paws kneading at his shoulder. Ari watched the pair of them with a dumb smile on his face, barely noticing when his mom slipped past to use the restroom and grab some water, and ended up jumping in startlement when she finally reappeared at his elbow, saying to Kent, “She’s a real princess, isn’t she?”

“She’s my girl,” said Kent, so fondly that Ari wanted to die a little.

A few more minutes of small talk passed until, both all too soon and not quickly enough, his mother hugged them both, kissed Ari’s cheek and made her way out to her car. Kent and Ari waved her goodbye from the door, and then she was gone, her taillights disappearing into the gathering dark.

As Ari shut the door, Kent headed over to the kitchen to give Kit what was doubtless her second dinner, an understandable sucker for her pleading meows as she twined around his legs like a fluffy white feather boa. She tucked into the gourmet wet food with gusto, leaving Kent to sigh dramatically as he rinsed the empty tin and put it in the recycling.

“She loves me for my human thumbs,” he said, flashing Ari a smile.

 _I love you for so much more than that,_ Ari thought, and –

Oh.

Something of the revelation must’ve showed on his face, because Kent flushed a little across his cheeks and asked, “You all right over there?”

“I’m good,” Ari said. Kent’s eyes were wide, and got wider still as Ari stepped into his space. “Look, you can tell me to fuck off if I’m reading this all wrong, but –”

He put a gentle hand on Kent’s cheek and kissed him.

Their lips pressed together for half a second; then Kent gasped and opened his mouth, arms coming up to twine around Ari’s neck as he kissed him back. Ari groaned as the kiss deepened, walking Kent back to press him against the counter. Their bodies slotted together; Kent’s fingers found the curling hair at the nape of his neck and tangled in it, nails scratching just so at the sensitive skin. Ari felt like he was on fire, melting into every touch. He slid his hands to Kent’s shoulders, squeezing before dropping down to rest on his hips, thumbs slipping up under the edge of his shirt to stroke across the bones. Then:

“Wait,” Kent gasped, pulling back a little.

Flushed and shivery, Ari complied, eyes glued to the plush, bright pink of Kent’s lower lip.

“Fuck,” Kent whispered. He skimmed his hands down Ari’s arms then dropped them entirely, prompting Ari, with a sudden sinking feeling, to remove his own in turn.

“Did you not want –?”

“No, I wanted. Want,” said Kent. “I want this so fucking much, you have no idea.” He was breathing hard, the barest tremor creeping into his voice. “I just… I’m fucking terrified.” He laughed a little, high and strained, and gulped out, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Kissed?” asked Ari, confused.

Kent shook his head, the colour rising in his cheeks. “No, not – I mean – I haven’t… dated.” He looked away, shoulders hunching terribly. “Unless that’s not what you wanted –”

“I want that,” Ari said quickly, reaching to squeeze Kent’s shoulder. To his relief, Kent sighed into the touch and put his hand on Ari’s own, looking up at him with a mix of hope and apprehension. “Kent, you’re… you mean a lot to me. I wouldn’t risk that just for something casual.”

“Okay,” Kent breathed. “Okay. Then you, uh. Before we, uh, get to anything, you should – you should know that dating isn’t the only thing I haven’t done.”

He looked so painfully insecure, but it still took Ari a good two seconds to understand what he was saying. When it clicked, he swallowed hard. “Never?” he asked, a little hoarsely.

“Not even with a girl,” said Kent, looking studiously at Ari’s collarbone. His next words came out in a rush. “It was kissing and handies with Jack, and I let girls blow me a few times in clubs so I wouldn’t get chirped about wheeling, but that’s it. And the last time I did even that was years ago.” He lifted his gaze and chin both and added, a little defiantly, “I’ve used toys, though. I know how my body works.”

Just in time, Ari’s rational mind yanked control of his mouth from whatever horny caveman part had been about to speak and said, “I don’t care how much stuff you’ve done, or how little. I just want you.”

Kent swallowed hard and looked away again. “I just… I don’t want to be disappointing.”

Ari couldn’t bear it; he slipped a knuckle under Kent’s chin and lifted until he looked at him. “You couldn’t ever be,” he rasped. “We can go however slow or fast you like; whatever you want, that’s enough for me. I promise.”

This time, it was Kent who kissed him, curling a hand around his neck and drawing their mouths together. Ari’s hands found their way back to his hips, and when they finally pulled apart, Kent was smiling.

“Dinner?” he asked, satisfyingly breathless.

“Yeah,” said Ari, and pulled away to help him start their evening routine, a foolish grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jason the dog thing is something my family always says, though it was friends who owned the original Jason the dog.


	18. Chapter 18

Kent’s mouth was tingling, face stretched in a smile that wouldn’t stay still. He felt hot all over, aching and dizzy and horny and so full of want that he hardly knew what to do with his body, let alone his words. As he and Ari cooked dinner, moving in and out of each other’s space as effortlessly as they always did, each brushing contact was charged with electricity. It occurred to Kent – belatedly, as he was feeling a little manic about the whole situation – that he was touch-starved for any sort of non-platonic intimacy, and if he hadn’t trusted Ari not to laugh at him for it, he would’ve succumbed to embarrassment at how fucking easy he was for him.

Instead, he managed to get the salmon marinated and cooking, then ruined the illusion of competence by standing in place and staring stupidly at the steamer, too nervous to turn around. He heard movement, and then sucked in air as Ari came to stand behind him, hands on Kent’s hips as he placed a gentle, shivering kiss at the join of his neck and shoulder. Kent gripped the edge of the counter, breathing hard as he shut his eyes and tipped his head sideways, letting Ari kiss up his neck to his jaw. As Ari squeezed his hips, Kent turned in his arms and kissed him hard, gripping Ari’s shirt as much to stop his hands from shaking as to keep him close. It had been so long, so _fucking_ long since he’d done or felt anything like this, and when Ari slotted a thigh between his legs, Kent rutted against it shamelessly, so lost in sensation that he was genuinely confused for a good two seconds when Ari finally broke away and murmured, “Better not let it burn.”

“Huh?” said Kent, and then flushed all over “Oh. Right.”

Serving up a dinner of salmon, greens and couscous felt surreal and absurd after what they’d just been doing, but food was fuel for hockey and therefore necessary, so Kent made himself sit down and eat. Neither of them talked, though they kept on smiling stupidly at each other and then looking away. Ari pulled out his phone and started playing music through the bluetoothed speakers, some playlist that was just a mix of London Grammar, the xx and Massive Attack. Kent raised a brow at that, nudging Ari’s foot under the table.

“Is this your makeout playlist?” 

Ari coloured slightly, lips twitching. “Maybe? Is that a problem?”

“Clearly not,” Kent mumbled, taking an oversized bite of fish.

When they finally finished and carried their plates to the dishwasher, Kent was on the cusp of bursting into hysterical laughter.

“TV?” Ari asked, aiming for casual and missing by a solid octave.

“Yes,” said Kent fervently, “thank you, yes –”

They beelined for the couch in tandem. Ari sat down first and swallowed as he stared up at Kent, who realised abruptly that he had no idea where the remote was and frankly didn’t care.

“Fuck it,” he breathed, and shakily climbed onto Ari’s lap, straddling him. Ari’s hands found his waist again, brown eyes blown wide as Kent looped Ari’s hair behind his ears and kissed him. There was nothing chaste about it; he arched into Ari’s body, whining in his throat as they rocked against each other, skin heating up as Ari slipped his hands under his shirt and stroked his back. A dizzy, distant part of Kent thought that they were making out like teenagers, grinding and grabbing and grasping, but he’d never done anything like this as a teen; everything then had been stolen and secret, half-chaste and half-frantic, shoved into dark corners and drenched in the constant fear-thrill of being caught. But this, now… this was different. Now, they could do as much or as little as he wanted and had both the time and privacy in which to make it good, and all at once, Kent realised he didn’t care about being inexperienced.

With a wrench of will, he pulled his mouth away from Ari’s and gasped out, “I don’t think I want to go slow.”

Ari looked up at him, lips shiny and dark. “You don’t?”

“I don’t. I’m twenty-six and I’ve never dated, never fucked –” he shivered a little, groaning as Ari kissed his throat, “– that’s slow enough for a lifetime.”

“What do you want tonight, then?”

Kent looked at Ari, whose expression was a gorgeous mix of sincerity and want, and thought about fumbling kisses in juniors; about never fully undressing with Jack because, locked door or not, there was always a chance of being walked in on, of being _found out_.

“Be naked with me,” he rasped, skin prickling all over at the vulnerability of it. He looped his arms around Ari’s neck and pressed their foreheads together, unable to look him in the eye. “Take me to bed and be naked with me. I don’t care what else we do tonight, I just – I just wanna touch you.”

By way of answer, Ari slid his hands under Kent’s thighs and, with a tiny grunt of exertion, stood up, carrying him. Kent clung on with his legs, fingers curled in Ari’s shirt as he walked them both into the bedroom. As he kicked the door closed, Kent slid softly to the floor. The light was low and warm, and Kent swallowed hard as they looked at each other. Slowly, Ari reached for Kent’s shirt and popped the buttons one by one, until he gently slipped it off over his shoulders. Kent did the same for Ari in turn, their undressing a silent, breathless dance as they undid belts and slipped out of pants, until they were hard and naked together. Kent’s skin was all over goosebumps, and not from cold; he traced his fingertips over Ari’s collarbone, across the swell of his pecs, down the ridges of his serratus to the thick muscle of his waist and the sweet line of his Adonis belt. Ari inhaled sharply, cupped Kent’s cheek and kissed him deep, hands roaming over Kent in turn as they moved to the bed.

What followed threw Kent completely out of time. Ari pressed him into the mattress, kissing and touching, calloused hands stroking up Kent’s sides, across his thighs, teasing his cock. Kent was breathless with it; his vision nearly whited out at times, he was so overwhelmed. He touched his fill of Ari, too, as often as he could think to; rolled them over and straddled him, kissed down and down that long, muscular torso and took his cock in his mouth, sucking lightly as Ari bucked and shuddered beneath him, tasting his salt and testing the flex of his jaw before moving back up again, whining deep in his throat as Ari twined their fingers together and rolled him under. There was no clock, no change in light, no fear of interruption: there was only touch and the rising, ragged need to come, growing more and more desperate each time he neared the edge and then was backed away from it, Ari playing his body as skilfully as he played the puck, until both of them were sheened with sweat and Kent was near to begging.

“Please,” he gasped out, “Ari, I need –”

Ari swallowed the plea with a kiss and stroked them together, eager cocks slick in his big, strong hand, and Kent came gasping into his mouth, shuddering blackout through the overstimulation as Ari used his cum for lube and brought himself over in turn, until Kent’s chest was a mess they’d made together.

“Fuck,” Ari whispered, sliding to Kent’s side. He rested his head on Kent’s shoulder, panting lightly, and Kent, whose consciousness had been atomised by the whole experience and was still reconfiguring, curled an arm back to stroke Ari’s sweaty hair in a reflex that went deeper than thought.

“We should clean up,” Kent said, a thousand years later. He turned his head and kissed Ari’s nose, his brow, the corner of his eye.

“Wait here,” Ari murmured. He levered himself up and walked, nude and languid, to the bathroom, returning a minute later with a warm washcloth. His eyes crinkled as he cleaned Kent up, and then they were kissing again, soft and sweet. Eventually, though, Kent ran out of energy even for that; he felt like a decade had passed since the mothers’ trip, and he was heavylimbed with a blissed-out tiredness he’d seldom felt before.

Even so, a tiny pinprick of doubt moved him to lift his head and ask, “Can I sleep here?”

“Of course,” said Ari. He smiled at him, all warmth, then rose to turn out the lights. When he slid into bed a final time, he spooned up behind Kent and kissed his shoulder, murmuring, “Is this all right?”

“’s perfect,” said Kent, and twined their fingers together across his chest.

He was asleep in moments.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [me, a raccoon person, rising from the trash like mushu in mulan] I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

After spending a heady, languid day with Kent, Ari arrived alone at the Aeros’ Halloween party, which was already in full swing. His lips still ached where Kent had kissed him breathless as he left the house, as though they hadn’t spent hours in bed and wouldn’t be meeting up again once Kent had his costume sorted.

“I want it to be a surprise,” he’d said, cheeks flushed, when Ari asked what he was wearing. “There’s one thing I always wanted to try, and I never could in Vegas, so.” And then he’d smiled and kissed Ari again, and Ari had forgotten what words were.

Now, dressed in a flattering Han Solo costume, complete with a leather belt and holster for his plastic blaster, he let himself into Sheddy’s place and set about grabbing a beer.

“What the fuck, Paxer?” said Rainbow, doing a doubletake as he walked past. “Where’s your lightsabre?”

“I’m Han Solo,” Ari said, tapping his blaster.

Rainbow snorted. “Laaame,” he drawled. “You should’ve been a Jedi.”

“At least I’m wearing _clothes_ ,” said Ari.

Rainbow grinned at him, completely unrepentant in his sexy devil getup, which consisted of tight red short shorts, a clip-on devil tail, a sparkly red bowtie and a plastic headband with horns. The matching red and black Gucci slides were presumably from Rainbow’s private collection of appalling footwear, not an official part of the outfit, but as they were a step up from his terrible Crocs, Ari elected to let them pass without comment. 

“Halloween is for slutting it up, bro,” said Rainbow. “Everyone knows that.”

“Even your abuela?” chirped Ari, unable to resist.

Rainbow made a series of tortured facial expressions before glaring at him in deep disapproval. “ _Not cool_ , Paxer.” He grabbed himself a beer, popped the top and pointed at Ari with the bottleneck. “Just for that, I’m not wingmanning you with Avery’s friends.”

“I never asked you to,” said Ari, but Rainbow was already gone, retreating into the clamour of the party. He rolled his eyes and turned to find Sheddy and Hollis approaching, dressed respectively as the Scarecrow and Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz.

“Who the hell are you meant to be?” said Sheddy genially, clapping Ari on the shoulder.

“I know you know who Han Solo is.”

Sheddy narrowed his eyes. “Did you pick that costume because you like the character, or because it’s comfortable?”

“Yes.”

Hollis laughed as Sheddy sighed dramatically, scratching at the fake straw protruding from his collar. “Just wait until you’ve got a better half to bring to one of these things and they want to do a couples’ costume. Then you’ll see.”

 _I’ve already got someone_ , Ari thought, but didn’t say. His pulse ticked up at the omission: as new as things were between them, he and Kent had agreed that they wouldn’t tell anyone on the team just yet, and would only confirm their relationship if they were asked about it directly. Still, a part of him wanted to blurt it all out to Sheddy, not because he was their captain, but because he was Ari’s friend, and Kent… Kent was important.

As if sensing the direction of Ari’s thoughts, Sheddy glanced around and said, “Speaking of which, where’s Parson?”

“He’ll be here soon,” said Ari, somehow managing to keep a straight (heh) face. “He’s still sorting out his costume.”

Hollis made a relieved noise. “I’m glad he’s coming. After last time, I was worried he might not feel comfortable here.”

Ari flushed, looking awkwardly between the pair of them, uncertain how much he either could or should say; of what Sheddy might or might not have said to Hollis about what happened in San Jose; of what Kent would want him to do.

Mercifully, Sheddy took pity on him. Pitching his voice low, he murmured, “That call he got, after the Sharks game? That was really his dad?”

“Yeah,” said Ari, swallowing. “Yeah, it was.”

Hollis looked grave and sad. “The way he reacted when Maya broke the plate, I wondered if something had happened with a teammate back in Vegas, but…” she let the sentence tail off, exchanging a meaningful look with Sheddy.

“Should I say something to him?” Sheddy asked.

Ari flinched at the prospect. “No, no. I mean.” He exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think Kent realised how much of that call the team overheard, you know? It wasn’t something we talked about afterwards, and it’s not… he doesn’t like to discuss it.”

“I don’t blame him,” said Hollis. She was wearing a neat brown wig as part of her Dorothy costume, and something about the absence of her bright red curls made her seem more serious than usual. She shook her head and smiled, dispelling the sombre air of the conversation. “Well. We just wanted to make sure you knew that we’re in his corner.”

“I figured you would be,” said Ari, though he was oddly relieved regardless. “Thanks.”

With the heavy talk taken care of, the discussion turned to lighter things. Maya and Keller, who’d already been out trick-or-treating earlier in the evening, were spending the night with trusted friends, thereby making the Sheddon household a temporarily child-free zone. Avery and some of the other girls had, with permission, brought some friends along, so that Rainbow and several of the other young, single guys – and one guy in an open relationship with a long-distance girlfriend – were attempting to wheel, with varied results.

“Oh my god,” said Sheddy, wince-laughing into his beer as Coco tried to pull off a standing backflip and belly-smacked into the deck instead. Raffs, Rainbow and Vibby, his co-conspirators, all doubled over laughing, as did the girl he’d presumably been trying to impress. “He almost broke his neck!”

“Were we ever that young and stupid?” asked Ari, grinning.

Sheddy snorted. “Pretty sure you still are.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Please don’t.”

As more people began arriving, their little group broke up, moving into the ebb and flow of the party. It hadn’t been that long since Ari had arrived, all things considered, but he couldn’t help glancing repeatedly over to the entrance hall, waiting to catch a glimpse of Kent. He had no idea what his costume would be, but something about the look in his eye when Ari left had promised mischief; he didn’t know what to expect. And in any case, he realised he was simply missing Kent, costume or no costume.

The realisation left him feeling warm and a little giddy in a way that had nothing to do with the beer in his hand. They’d woken up together that morning, limbs sleepily entangled, and Kent, it soon became apparent, was keen to make up for his lack of prior experience. They took their time with each other in bed, and when they finally made it to the shower to clean up, it had been long enough between rounds that Kent went to his knees on the tiles and sucked Ari off, water beading on his eyelashes. Ari came on his face and throat, panting at the sight of it, and after a smirking Kent had rinsed himself clean, Ari soaped him up and teased him into shaky incoherence, until Kent was boneless and satiated in turn.

Ari had been through the honeymoon stage in all his prior relationships, but he’d never dated a person he already lived and worked with; had never had the luxury of not having to balance two busy schedules just to see them. It ought to have been terrifying for any number of reasons, but he and Kent had been living in each other’s pockets for months already, on the road and off. He knew what Kent was like first thing in the morning and last thing at night; knew he was good at remembering to put the laundry on but terrible at taking it out of the dryer. He knew what he was like in a bad mood, after a hard loss, when he was sore and tired; and Kent knew the same about Ari, because he’d been right there with him. Adding sex and feelings to the equation hadn’t made a steady thing feel perilous; instead, it felt like a natural extension of who they were together, something they’d been subconsciously building towards since that first, fraught day at the airport.

“Holy shit, is that Parsy?” yelled Rainbow, cutting through Ari’s introspection. He, Coco and Raffs had somehow appeared at Ari’s side without him noticing, and as Ari jerked his head up to look for Kent, Rainbow slung an arm around his shoulders. “See, man? Parsy gets it. Halloween it for slutting it up, not fuckin’ _nerd shit_!”

“What –” Ari started, and then promptly stopped, drymouthed, as he belatedly recognised Kent. At first glance, he’d mistaken him for one of the WAGs, but now that he was looking properly, it was unmistakeably him, just… different.

As Kent entered the party, a high blush on his cheeks, Ari’s gaze raked him from the bottom up. He was wearing neat black heels, sheer black knee-high stockings, a black pleated miniskirt (“Fuck,” whispered Coco reverently, “Parser’s a fuckin’ rocket, eh?”) and a white collared shirt, open all the way down and knotted into a midriff top beneath a soft grey cardigan-jacket-thing, Ari didn’t know what you’d call it, with just a peek of lacy red bra beneath – and then, to top it off, a blonde, pigtailed wig. He was even wearing a little makeup, red lipstick and a tiny bit of eyeshadow and mascara, emphasising his features. Ari kept staring as Kent got closer, oblivious to the hooting, catcalling rookies, but it wasn’t until Kent came to a halt in front of him that he stopped seeing the costume in pieces and put it all together.

“Hit me, baby, one more time,” he choked out, trying desperately not to sound as breathless as he felt. “Classic Britney.”

Kent’s face lit up, a rare real smile that made him look even hotter than he already was. “I knew you’d get it.”

“Parsy!” said Rainbow, holding up a hand for a fistbump. Kent’s eyes widened – both at Rainbow’s approach and at his almost non-existent outfit – but he didn’t leave him hanging, for all that he was clearly mystified by the reaction. “Nice one, bro!”

“Out of curiosity, do you actually know who he’s dressed as?” asked Ari, raising an eyebrow.

Rainbow blinked at him. “A hot chick?”

Kent laughed. “I mean, technically yes? I’m Britney Speares.”

“Oh!” said Rainbow. “Mint.” He grinned broadly, gesturing at himself. “I’m a sexy devil.”

“I got that, yeah.”

“Everyone gets it,” Ari deadpanned. “There’s nothing not to get.”

“Well, good,” said Rainbow, cheerfully rolling his eyes. “That’s the point.”

“I need a drink,” said Kent, and Ari took the out on behalf of them both, shepherding Kent swiftly towards the beer.

“Fuck,” he murmured, awed all over again. “You look gorgeous.”

Kent ducked his head. “It’s really okay? You’re not, like, weirded out or anything?”

“Pretty much the opposite,” Ari said daring to stroke a finger along Kent’s arm. Kent shivered at the contact, biting his lip as they looked at each other. “I kinda wanna drag you into a bedroom right now.”

Kent laughed breathlessly. “What, and gay up the captain’s house?”

Ari caught a flash of uncertainty in his eyes and gave his arm a squeeze. “I promise you, Sheddy’s not a homophobe. I know for a fact that teammates have hooked up at these parties before; he’d only be mad if we, like, left stains on the couch or something.”

“That’s good to know,” said Kent faintly, grabbing a beer and taking a long swallow.

“Oh my god, Kent!” exclaimed Hollis, appearing as though summoned. She beamed at him, eyes wide as she took in his costume. “Oh my god, you’re Britney, it’s _perfect_! You’ve _got_ to come show the girls, Avery’s been trying to convince Alphonse to do a drag costume for as long as they’ve been together, _please_ –”

“Sure,” said Kent, blinking like a deer in headlights as Hollis led him over to the WAGs. Ari followed for moral support, outwardly grinning as he tried to get his libido under control, which was proving difficult. He’d never thought that feminisation was a thing he’d be into with a male partner – he’d never had any strong feelings about whether his girlfriends dressed super feminine or not, so long as they felt comfortable – but there was something about seeing Kent surrounded by gorgeous women and occasionally, just for a split second, mistaking him for one of them that made his bisexual hindbrain whimper and melt. For his part, Kent was clearly nervous at first, shoulders tense as though bracing for mockery or censure, but as Avery complimented him on his choice of stockings and Yvette spoke wistfully of wearing non-maternity bras again in the future, he steadily relaxed.

By the time Sheddy wandered over to start taking group photos, as per Halloween party tradition, Kent was smiling and laughing naturally. As Hollis got the girls and Kent lined up, Sheddy tipped his head to Ari and murmured, “Who’s the girl in the pigtails? I haven’t seen her before.”

Ari choked on a swallow of beer. “That’s Kent,” he said. “He’s Britney Speares.”

Sheddy nearly dropped his phone. He swore softly to himself and went back to taking the photo, a slight touch of red on his cheeks. “He, ah. He certainly pulls it off.”

“He does,” said Ari, and made a mental note to tell Kent about it as soon as Sheddy was safely out of earshot.

But no sooner were the photos done than all of them were swept back up into the whirl of the party, the festivities aided in no small part by Rainbow, who’d managed to start a conga line and was forcibly recruiting everyone in his path. By the time it finally snaked, clapped and laughed its way to a perilous conclusion – miraculously, nothing in the house was broken, although two lamps survived near-death experiences – Kent had been drawn into talking about his All-Star Game experiences by a wide-eyed Raffs, who still got a little overwhelmed in games against Crosby or Ovechkin.

Ari listened without contributing much except the odd teasing remark, smiling stupidly whenever he managed to fluster Kent, and when Raffs was finally summoned away for a game of beer pong, Ari seized his moment.

“Come with me,” he murmured, touching Kent’s elbow to steer him over to the balcony. They slipped out without being noticed, and after carefully shutting the door behind them, Ari took Kent’s hand and led him around to the back of the house, where he knew there was a private loveseat set in alcove between two walls. Kent was flushed as they sat together; other than the stars, the only illumination came from the fairy-lights that someone, presumably Hollis, had painstakingly wound around the balcony railing.

Unable to help himself, Ari raised a hand to Kent’s cheek and stroked his thumb across the bone, shivering a little as Kent leaned into the touch.

“You look beautiful,” he said. It came out raw, and he felt embarrassed about it for all of two seconds, until Kent looked shyly up at him through his darker-than-usual lashes.

“You really like it?”

“I really do.”

“Fuck,” Kent said, and shut his eyes. “Can I kiss you right now, or is that – if someone walked out here, would that –”

“We ought to hear anyone coming before we see them, but even if we did get caught, fuck, I don’t care. I mean, you’re allowed to not want that, but I just… I don’t care who sees me with you.” Ari swallowed hard, forcing himself not to make the first move – he was already out to the team, this was Kent’s choice to make – and then had a breathing malfunction as Kent climbed onto his lap and kissed him desperately, hands on Ari’s shoulders. Ari made a wounded noise and kissed him back, hands sliding down to Kent’s hips, his thighs, and then, fingers trembling, skating slowly back up again beneath the hem of his skirt.

They broke apart, Kent breathing hard as he leaned his forehead against Ari’s.

“To much?” Ari rasped, and felt it as Kent shook his head in answer.

“Just enough,” he breathed, and kissed him again, arms looped around Ari’s neck. Ari slowly slid his hands up Kent’s thighs – high enough to notice, despite the plush distraction of Kent’s mouth, that he couldn’t feel the hem of his boxer briefs. Kent shifted in his lap, rocking closer, and the motion brought Ari’s hand into contact with a material that was definitely not cotton – something sleek with a bit of lace, and he groaned at the realisation that Kent had put on the panties that matched his bra.

This time, it was Kent who spoke, voice shaky. “Too much?”

“Never,” croaked Ari, stroking reverently at the thin strip of fabric nestled in the crease of Kent’s hip. He leaned in and kissed Kent’s neck, and as Kent gasped and shifted again, it became pressingly apparent that they were both hard. Ari slid his palm over Kent’s cock, savouring the feel of it through the satiny fabric. A new burst of lust shot through him at the realisation that, because he’d raised the skirt a little to get his hands under it, Kent’s panties were rubbing right up against him. He swore softly, forcing himself to move his hands back to the safer territory of Kent’s thighs, and then they were kissing again, deep and languid over a simmering arousal that they couldn’t fully act on, not on Sheddy’s back porch.

Ari lost himself in Kent, in the hitch of his hips and the heat of his mouth. He had no idea how long they’d been outside; only that he was dizzyingly turned on and nearly incoherent with the tease of it all. He wanted to strip Kent down to his lingerie and see him splayed out on his bed; or maybe Kent would push him down and straddle him again, hold Ari’s wrists and take control –

“Ohshit _fuck_!”

Kent and Ari startled as far apart as they could get with Kent still on Ari’s lap, staring at a shocked-looking Rainbow. Ari’s brain was a roar of white noise; he was scrambling for something, anything to say that might break the terrible silence – and then Sheddy rounded the corner.

“Did you fi–” he started, then stopped, eyes going huge as he took in the tableau. “Uh. Um. Oh, shit– ”

Kent leapt up like he’d been burned, tearing his wig off and throwing it aside. “Sir,” he said, and his voice was _shaking_ , terrified in a way that made Ari’s heart twist. “I’m – I’m sorry, we shouldn’t, it won’t happen again –”

“Don’t apologise,” Sheddy said, concern and shock warring in his tone. Ari stood and wrapped an arm around Kent’s shoulders, squeezing him close; Kent shuddered and pressed into him, his pulse so strong and fast that Ari could feel it secondhand. “There’s no, uh – you’re not in any trouble –”

“We’re together,” Ari blurted. “Just. This isn’t just, like, a random hookup. We’re dating. I’m dating Kent.”

A beat of silence. Then Rainbow said, a little awkwardly, “Uh. Congrats?” He shook his head as if to clear it, grinned and then added, much more normally, “I mean, like. Actual congrats, bros, that’s sweet as hell. Pro homo!” And he held out his fist for a dap.

Sheddy slapped a hand over his face; Ari, biting his cheek to keep from making an inappropriate noise, reached out and gave Rainbow a fistbump. Rainbow beamed at him, then extended his fist to Kent, who belatedly followed suit while still leaning hard against Ari.

“So, like,” said Rainbow, when they were done. “We were trying to find you guys to come play beer pong, but that’s clearly not the vibe right now, so I’m gonna go grab Viking instead.”

“You’re not –” Kent started, as Rainbow turned to go. Rainbow raised a brow at him, puzzled, and Ari felt his heart hurt all over again as Kent said, small and hesitant, “You’re not mad at me?”

“Bro.” Rainbow looked almost hurt. “I know I can be, like, a douche at times, but I’m not _that_ kind of douche.” He shrugged and grinned again. “Besides, if you two are boning each other, that’s two less dudes to compete with when we go wheeling chicks, you know? You gotta be practical about this shit.”

Kent gave a hiccupping laugh. “You’re a real beauty, you know that?”

Rainbow beamed at him. “’Course, bro. Right back atcha.” He hesitated, cutting a glance to Sheddy. “I’m guessing I keep this to myself?”

“We’d appreciate it, yeah,” said Ari.

Rainbow nodded. “Can do,” he said, and promptly headed back to the house, his glittery devil-horns gleaming in the light.

Silence fell between the three of them. Kent was no longer shaking, Ari was relieved to notice, but he still tensed up when Sheddy drew breath to speak.

“So,” said Sheddy evenly. “Can’t say I’m not surprised, but I’m not… that’s not a bad thing.” He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “This is new territory for me, captaincy-wise. I don’t know if there’s some law I oughta lay down about keeping your play and your dating separate, but frankly we all know there’s times when guys are affected by something that’s going on off the ice, so I figure you two get as much leeway there as I’d give to anyone. So.” He grinned crookedly. “Like Rainbow said, congratulations. I’ve got your back, and I know the other guys will, too. So just… be good to each other, eh?”

“And what about management?” Kent asked, the question coming out as a gulp. “Will you tell them?”

Sheddy raised an eyebrow. “Not unless they ask me outright or there’s some emergency reason why they’d need to know; or unless you ask me to, obviously.” He paused, blinking. “ _Do_ you want me to tell them?”

“ _No_ ,” said Kent, “no, fuck – I just.” He tensed again, and Ari realised what he was about to say a heartbeat before he said it. “It’s why the Aces traded me. Being gay.” He looked at Sheddy, his face and voice stripped raw. “Everything I gave to them, and it didn’t matter more than this. I wasn’t even seeing anyone, they just… didn’t want me.”

Sheddy blanched. “Fuck, Parser. That’s… Jesus _fucking_ Christ, this _league._ ” He squared his shoulders, lifting his chin. “I don’t like to think our group would try and pull any shit like that – they’ve never had an issue with Ari – but if they do, I want you to know I’ll fight for you. Both of you. And I won’t be quiet about it.”

Kent made a small, soft noise in the back of his throat; Sheddy likely hadn’t heard it, but Ari did. “Thanks,” Kent whispered. “That means a lot.”

Sheddy nodded gruffly, then seemed to remember what he’d walked in on the two of them doing and abruptly turned awkward again. “Well. Good. That’s… good. So, I’ll just, ah. I’ll leave you to it.” He bobbed his head at them, clapped his hands once, and headed back inside.

Kent slumped against Ari, burying his face in his shoulder. Ari pulled him into a hug, one hand cradling the nape of Kent’s neck, and for a moment, they just stood like that, breathing together.

“That really just happened, didn’t it,” Kent mumbled.

“It really did.”

“They weren’t grossed out or angry. They didn’t blame me. They were just… good.”

“They really were.”

Kent gripped his shirt, hard. “Can I make a confession?”

“What?”

“Making out with you, just now… I wanted to, but I think some stupid part of me wanted to get caught. Not because I thought it’d go down well, but because I was sure it wouldn’t, and I wanted to get it all over with. Self-destructive, you know? And instead…”

Ari kissed the top of his head, so impossibly full of feelings that he didn’t know what to do with them. “What do you want to do now, then?”

Kent tipped his head and looked up at him. His eyes were a little bit wet, but all the brighter for it, his expression trembling somewhere between fear and hope. “Can we just… sit out here, for a little bit longer?”

Ari kissed him, sweet and soft, and felt it like a bolt of lightning through the ribs when Kent leaned up to kiss him back. “Of course,” he said, and twined their fingers together.


	20. Chapter 20

Kent woke with a jolt, heart pounding with nameless urgency. He sat bolt upright, trying desperately to figure out what was wrong. He felt guilty and sick and scared, like he’d overslept and missed a flight or forgotten something important, and it wasn’t until the mattress shifted next to him that he realised, in a belated rush, that he wasn’t alone.

“Whazzit?” slurred Ari, his face smushed into the pillow. “’s early.”

“Do we have skate today?” Kent asked, stupidly. His pulse was still going crazy; he felt like he needed to get up and run, but he didn’t know where to or why.

“No,” said Ari. He blinked, lifting his head to frown worriedly at Kent. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I feel –” Kent jagged a hand through his hair, his breathing too fast, “– I feel like I’ve forgotten something? Or done something wrong?”

Carefully, Ari said, “You remember what happened with Sheddy and Rainbow?”

“Yes,” said Kent, because of course he did, it wasn’t possible to forget a thing like that, and he was about to ask Ari if anything else had happened at the party when a wave of anxiety hit him. “Oh,” he said aloud, and then again, in a smaller voice, “ _Oh_.” 

He lay back down, flush with shame and embarrassment, and jumped when Ari rolled over and pulled him into his arms. Kent stayed tense for all of a second, then melted into the contact, turning to burrow his face against the warmth of Ari’s skin.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ari stroked his hair, lips brushing against Kent’s temple. “Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s just a lot, that’s all. It’s allowed to be a lot.”

“Why is it, though? Why the fuck do I feel so… they were _fine_ with it, they were nice as hell and I’m still scared shitless.” He screwed his eyes shut. “I’m fucking _sick_ of being scared.”

“I know,” said Ari. “It takes time, that’s all. Like.” He hesitated, and Kent’s lips twitched despite himself; he could practically hear Ari thinking, could perfectly picture the look on his face, and it left him feeling helplessly endeared. “Like, I know this isn’t quite the same thing, but when I first made it to the show – not when I was up and down my rookie year, but my sophomore season – I spent the whole time thinking I was going to be sent down again, or traded, or just flat-out told I didn’t belong in the NHL. I was so in my own head about what it meant to be a bi player, freaking out about all the ways it could go wrong, that even when everyone was telling me how well I was doing, I kept on waiting for the other shoe to drop, only it never did. But it still took a long-ass time for that fear to go away, and even when it did, it wasn’t because of any one good thing that happened; it was just that my brain needed time to trust that I’d be okay.” He drew a breath and gently tipped Kent’s chin up, looking at him with soft brown eyes. “And the Aces screwed you for trusting them. Of course you’re going to take a while to feel safe about everything.”

“I trust you,” Kent said, because it was true.

Ari smiled and kissed him gently, a press of lips at the corner of his mouth. Then he huffed and rolled onto his back, one arm flailing out to grab his phone from the bedside charger. “Sheddy’s probably posted the party photos to Insta by now. Wanna see how hot people think you looked as Britney?”

Kent groaned and flopped a hand over his face. He’d given Sheddy permission to put his costume online, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see the consequences just yet. “I refuse to read internet comments right now because I’m trying to love myself.”

“How about I just read you the good ones, then?”

“Sure,” said Kent, and curled back into Ari’s side, eyes half-closed as Ari scrolled through social media and proceeded to read out thirst-comments. Kent’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch at the realisation that there’d definitely be negative comments out there, too – and doubtless plenty of homophobic ones, from idiots who thought that crossdressing for Halloween was inherently gay, and not something you could enjoy regardless – but it steadily settled as Ari, true to his word, filtered out the bad stuff.

“There’s a whole Reddit thread about how you’re making straight dudes question their sexuality,” Ari said. “Speaking of which, I forgot to tell you – when Sheddy first saw your getup last night, he legitimately thought you were a girl.”

Kent snorted. “He did not.”

“He did! He was taking photos and asked me who the girl in the pigtails was, because he hadn’t seen her before, and then he went _red_ when I said it was you.” 

“Oh my god.” Kent groan-laughed into his hands. “I cannot deal with the thought of Sheddy thinking I’m hot, that’s like… I don’t know, like the emotional reverse of seeing your grandpa in the shower or something.” He shot a mock-accusing glare at Ari. “Aren’t you meant to be minimising my trauma?”

“In Sheddy’s defence, you were a total smokeshow.”

“I’m _always_ a smokeshow,” Kent grumbled.

“Yes, dear,” Ari said, ruffling his hair.

Kent flushed to the tips of his toes.

Inevitably, lingering in bed led to more and better intimacies than laughing at the internet, and by the time they finally made it out to the kitchen for breakfast – and to feed Kit, who started yowling the second they opened the bedroom door – Kent was weak-kneed and beaming. Together, he and Ari ate, worked out, showered, fell back into bed again, ate, and then repeated this pleasant cycle into the evening, which finally ended with them watching a movie in Ari’s bed and falling asleep together.

Driving out to morning skate the next day, Kent felt almost absurdly happy. He was out to his rookie and his captain, he was thus far successfully dating Ari, and he’d managed to befriend his new teammates while still keeping the most important of the old ones. (Swoops had added him into a group chat with the handful of Aces guys he’d deemed trustworthy enough to know the truth, all of whom had weighed in on the Britney costume in flurries of friendly chirps and emojis. Kent had retaliated in kind, relishing the banter: Swoops had lost a bet with Tisha and gone as Doctor Who, while Scraps had dressed up as Antman and spent the whole night being mercilessly chirped for his shortness.) And now he got to go and play hockey, for money, in a city that was thus far being kinder to him than he’d ever expected.

Today’s practice was an open one, and once the Aeros were finally let out on the ice, Kent grinned and waved at the handful of faithful fans who’d come to watch them run drills and scrimmage, many of whom were holding phone-cameras up to the glass. Ari hip-checked him playfully as they lined up, and Kent let himself feel dopey and fond for all of a moment before firmly refocussing on coach. They were set to play the Schooners that night – a heavy, slow, hard-checking team – and so their drills were mostly focussed on speed, agility and puckhandling; which was to say, all of Kent’s strengths as a player. He was exhilarated, alternately swapping chirps with the boys and helping some of the younger guys, and when they finally lined up for a shooting drill, he turned to grin at the watching fans.

A cluster of girls with phones at the nearby glass caught his eye, and he waved at them, feeling happy all over again when they visibly burst out giggling. He was about to turn back to say something encouraging to Coco, who was ahead of him in line and had clearly been watching them earlier, when his attention snagged on a middle-aged woman standing a little behind them. He stared, puzzled, unable to figure out why he hadn’t skipped over her, and realised with a jolt that her wide, blue eyes were locked on his, an unreadable expression on her face. She was short and svelte with cropped blonde hair, dressed unremarkably in black leggings and a fitted, powder-blue jacket, and yet Kent’s heart was hammering strangely, yelling at him to pay attention.

Without quite meaning to, he moved out of line and skated slowly towards the nearest unoccupied stretch of glass, pulse beating even faster as the woman echoed him, climbing over the first row of seats. Coming closer, he thought she must’ve been in her late forties; there was visible silver shining against the blonde of her hair, which was clearly undyed, but there was something memorable about her face, something about the shape of her cheeks and the laughter-lines around her eyes –

Kent reached the glass, breathing harder than he had any right to be. Behind him, he was vaguely aware that Coco and coach were both calling him, wanting to know why he’d left the line, but he couldn’t hear them; was hypnotised by the look of fearful hope on the woman’s face as she slowly raised a hand to the glass. Kent dropped his stick and raised his glove in turn, mirroring the gesture, heart twisting nearly out of his chest; and then he saw her lips move – _Kenny_ – and something in him broke into shards as he realised who she was.

“ _Mom?_ ” he croaked out, and she clapped her hand to her mouth and nodded, tears in her eyes. Kent felt like he’d ben shot; he threw off his gloves and pressed both palms to the naked glass – “Mom, mom, _mama_ –” and then she pointed towards the tunnel, and he understood instantly what she wanted. Kent skated along the wall with his gaze fixed on her as she scrambled behind the group of girls and ran over chairs to reach the place where the railing dipped just enough for spectators to reach out their hands to players when they went back to the room at intermission, except this wasn’t a spectator, it was his _mother_. He reached the spot ahead of her, dropped his helmet and pressed up against the barrier, holding out his arms like a child, but she was the one who ran to him, almost topping over as she sobbed and grabbed for him, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Kent didn’t think; he got as good a grip as he could and dragged her over, staggering a little as he took her weight, then yelping with surprise as she braced a foot on the barrier and launched herself the rest of the way. She hung from his neck, feet dangling; he was so much taller than her now, and suddenly he had no strength left. He crashed to his knees and his mother came with him, crying into his shoulder as she gasped out, “ _I’m so sorry, Kenny, I shouldn’t have left you, I shouldn’t have left you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,_ ” until all he could do was hold her in turn and let his own tears fall.

“It’s okay,” he managed, a thousand years later. He pulled back and looked at her, red-wet-eyed and trembling, and felt a dislocating lurch as he realised how strongly they resembled each other. Was this how he’d looked to Ari, when he’d broken down? He shook his head, dispelling the thought, and rasped out, the words like lancing a wound, “The night you left, I heard everything. I heard what he said. I knew why you didn’t come back for me. I understood, mama. I never blamed you for it.” He swallowed hard, refusing to sob, and said, “I still missed you, though.”

His mother made a broken noise and shut her eyes, tears streaming out from underneath the lids. Kent looked away, the sight too raw, and was suddenly transfixed by the small rainbow pin affixed to the front of her jacket. Shakily, he raised a hand to touch it, the bright enamel cool against his fingertip, and when he looked at her again, her whole face was still with a fear he knew as deeply as his name.

“Is this,” he started, struggling to form the words, “I mean, are you – do you really –”

His mother’s face went pale as milk. “I remarried a few years ago,” she said. She straightened a little and choked out, “Her name’s Lydia.”

Kent felt the whole world go fuzzy. He made a punched-out noise and knew instantly that his mother had taken it to mean the worst, because she started to pull away from him and no, no that was wrong. He grabbed at her blindly, shaking all over, and drew her close enough to whisper, “ _I’m gay, mama._ ”

His mother made an anguished noise and clutched him harder, rocking them together. Kent bowed his head into her shoulder and wept to feel her fingers in his hair, her hand on his shoulder. It felt like coming home, like being seen and known in a way he hadn’t felt since he was eight years old, and all at once he needed to understand what was happening.

“How did you find me?” he asked, meaning, _Why did you take so long? Why now? Why here?_

“I always knew where you were,” she whispered. “But I thought – I assumed you hated me. Why wouldn’t you hate me, for leaving the way I did? I left you with him, to be raised by him. I left you _alone_. I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again, but then you played against the Sharks, and you said – you told McGuire you _understood_ , you said you’d get a hattrick for me and then you _did_ , and I hoped – I hoped that maybe, maybe –”

“I always wanted you back,” Kent said. “I just didn’t know how to find you.”

“I’m here now,” she said, and beamed at him through her tears, laughing as she raised a hand to scrub them away.

“Kent?”

It was Ari’s voice, gentle and careful. Kent lifted his head and saw that Ari had skated over, keeping a hesitant distance between them as the rest of the team looked on in varying stages of bafflement. Kent laughed wildly, wiping his eyes, and gripped his mother’s hand. “Ari,” he said, “Ari, this is my mom. She found me.”

Ari’s face went from incredulous to worried to happy in less time than it took to blink. “Oh my god,” he said, a massive smile breaking out on his face, “Oh my god, that’s – _Kent_.” And then, to Kent’s mother, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, uh – is it still Mrs Parson? What should I call you?”

She laughed and squeezed Kent’s hand. “It’s Mrs Silver these days, but you can call me Emma.”

“Emma, then,” said Ari. He shot Kent a look that was full of feeling, then cocked his thumb at the team. “Do you mind if I let them know what’s happened? Everyone’s, uh, a little confused.”

“Go ahead,” said Kent, heart full as Ari skated back to the Aeros.

Kent’s mom bit her lip. “You need to get back to practice, don’t you? I didn’t mean to interrupt and make a scene –”

“Please don’t apologise.”

“I don’t know how not to do that,” she admitted. “When I came today, I didn’t think you’d spot me in the stands. I was going to try and ask one of the employees to let you know I was here, so I wouldn’t have to see your face if you turned me down. I was so prepared for you to hate me, for you yell at me or turn your back, and instead…”

“Believe it or not,” said Kent, remembering being caught at the Halloween party, the panic he’d felt waking up the next morning, “I know exactly how you’re feeling.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to be an adult. “I do need to practice. But… you’ll stick around, afterwards? Can you come to the game tonight?” He laughed, a little hysterically, realising how much he wanted and needed to know about her life. “Do you live near here?”

“I – we – Lydia and me, our family – we live in Austin.”

“That’s so close,” Kent breathed. “Lydia, is she here, too?”

“She’s waiting out in the car.” She touched her rainbow pin, a rueful apology in her eyes. “I just… even if you forgave me for leaving, I didn’t know how you’d feel about that part of who I am.”

A sudden thought occurred to him. “And do you – do you and Lydia, do you have any kids?”

She looked first surprised, then guilty, then oddly hesitant. “Lydia has two girls,” she said, “from her last relationship – we call them ours, but I’m not – biologically, I mean, they’re not related to you, but –”

“I have sisters,” said Kent. He choked up on the words, struggling to keep his composure. “What are their names? How old are they? Are they here, too?”

The relief on his mother’s face nearly broke him. “Essie is nine and Ava is seven. They’re both in school today. They knew we were driving out here, but we haven’t told them about you, not yet; we didn’t want to get their hopes up if things went wrong.”

Kent laughed again, because it was that or cry. “I’ll… afterwards, after practice, you can come to my place, you and Lydia. And if you can stay, I’ll get you seats for the game tonight. Please.”

“Of course,” she said, and somehow Kent hauled them both to their feet, and they hugged again, tight and impossibly real.

And then, when they finally pulled away, his mother put a hand to her mouth and laughed. “Oh! I don’t know how to get back to my seat!”

“I’ll have someone take you around,” said Kent, and waved over one of the assistant coaches, who – along with the rest of the Aeros – was doing an admirable job of pretending not to stare. He jogged over, the picture of helpfulness, and Kent took an inordinate amount of joy in saying, “Coach, sorry, would you help my mom get back to her seat?”

“Of course,” he said, and smiled as he started to lead her down the tunnel.

Kent watched her go, his whole body fizzing like it had in the final minutes of the final game of the Stanley Cup Final, the year he’d won with the Aces. He was exhausted and exhilarated all at once, wrung out and energised and overwhelmed with the knowledge that his life was changing. That being so, it only felt right that Ari was the one to skate up beside him and squeeze his shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asked, softly.

Kent smiled like his face was splitting. “My mom has a wife, Ari. She has a _wife_. They’re going to come over after this.” 

Ari’s face lit up. He hugged him, short and hard, and Kent hugged back, to dizzy even to worry about being in public. “We’d better hurry up and finish, then,” he said. “Go grab your stuff, we’re gonna do a scrimmage.”

Nodding, Kent skated back over to grab his dropped helmet from near the tunnel, his stick and gloves from over by the glass. The group of girls was still there, wide-eyed, phones still out, and he had the belated realisation that his reunion with his mom was probably going to end up on the internet, first as rumour and then, inevitably, as fact. _My dad’s going to see it,_ he thought, and though there was a flash of the old fear there – enough that he made a mental note to speak to security and management about it, just in case the old bastard decided to come and scream at him in person – his overriding reaction was, _Good. He can fucking choke on it._

And with that joyful song in his heart, he skated away to scrimmage with his boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HELLO, HAVE SOME FEELINGS


	21. Chapter 21

Emma and Lydia Silver were a study in opposites. Where Emma was white, slim, blonde and barely 5’3, Lydia was curvy, brunet, Latina and almost as tall as Kent, with a flashing smile and dimpled cheeks. As they sat side by side on Ari’s couch, Kit twining happily around their ankles, Ari looked at Kent and wondered how it was possible to feel this happy for someone else. Kent was almost glowing, lit up from the inside out, and as Ari sat down next to him, he felt all the warmer for it.

“So, it’s really Ari’s place,” said Kent, continuing an explanation that had begun outside, “but he’s been letting me stay here since the trade. And, uh.” He blushed, reaching over to squeeze Ari’s hand. “And we’re dating.”

Lydia looked surprised and delighted; Emma clapped her hands to her mouth, eyes shining with the promise of happy tears.

“It’s new,” Kent went on, “but some of our teammates know, and they’re fine with it. I’m really lucky to be here, you know? Being traded was awful, but in the end… I think maybe it’s been the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”

“And to me, too,” Ari murmured, smiling.

“I always watched you play, your whole career,” said Emma. She knotted her hands in her lap, clearly struggling to keep her composure. “I always wanted to reach out to you, but I thought it was too late. I thought, at best, your father would’ve taught you to hate me, and at worst, you would’ve learned to on your own, because I left you with him. And he always came with you on those trips, with the Aces –”

“I never wanted him there,” Kent said, voice cracking a little. As he faltered through an explanation of what Aces management had done, Ari watched as Lydia’s cheerful expression turned sombre, angry; as Emma’s pale skin went paler still as she read between the lines.

When Emma spoke next, her voice shook with guilt. “He never hit you when I was there. I clung to that for so many years, but…”

Kent winced and looked away. Emma stifled a sob and put her face in her hands, trembling as Lydia put an arm around her shoulders. “I should’ve come back for you,” she moaned. “I never should’ve left you there, but I was… I was _terrified_ of him, Kenny. And I was so young when I had you, so much younger than him. I was nearly thirty when I left, but it took me years to stop feeling like a child. I’d barely ever been on my own, never really had to support myself – when I first planned to take you with me, I was sure I’d be able to make it work if I tried hard enough, but that first year alone was so _fucking_ hard… I kept thinking, how could I do this to Kenny? How could I make him live like this?”

“Em, it’s okay,” Lydia murmured. “You did the best you could.”

Emma shook her head blindly, but it was Kent who spoke next. “She’s right,” he said, voice rough with feeling. “There weren’t any perfect choices, not for either of us. I wanted to run away sometimes, try and find you maybe, or I’d think about telling someone what dad was like at home, but every time, I thought about how it could all go wrong; how I might lose hockey and still not have you, or end up living with strangers who were bad in a different way, or get stuck where I was but with dad being even worse. But all those problems, they’re _his_ fault, not yours. He took away all the good choices, and we did our best. And now we’re here, and he can go to hell.”

“My boy,” said Emma. She hiccupped, tears and laughter mixed. “I’m so glad to be here with you.”

Kent swallowed and nodded, his fingers trembling in Ari’s grip. Looking at Lydia, he said, “Tell me about your daughters? About how you two met?”

It was the perfect change of subject. As Emma leaned her head on her wife’s shoulder, Lydia grinned and pulled her close and took up the conversation.

“So, my girls’ father, Anthony, he’s a foreign correspondent. Born with itchy feet, that one! He goes all over the world for his work, and when we decided to start a family, he thought he could switch to a desk job, be around for the babies – and he tried, he did try, but he was miserable staying in one place all the time, and in the end, well. It just wasn’t working. It was hard to split up, a hard time, but we still care about each other as friends, and whenever he’s back in town, he absolutely dotes on the girls. I won’t say it’s not hard for them having him gone more often than not, but he sends them gifts from wherever he is, and they know they’re loved. And as for this one, well –” her dimples flashed, and Emma blushed and ducked her head, a gesture so reminiscent of Kent that Ari ached to see it, “– we met five years ago. Essie was four and Ava was two, and I’d just spent my first full year as a single mother, and it’s not like Anthony’s ever skimped on paying his fair share, but childcare is expensive, you know? And I’d been based in Plano, but a promotion came up at work that meant moving to Austin, and it felt like, if I was gonna try and go elsewhere, I should go before the girls started grade school, so I wouldn’t be uprooting them too much.

“So I took the promotion, moved to Austin – I’m a librarian, so I don’t make bank but I do some good – and the first thing I did was try and find some affordable childcare. And the apartment we moved into, it turned out my neighbour was this sweet, lovely woman who offered to watch the girls whenever I needed, refused to take a cent in payment; said she worked from home, kept her own hours, so it was never any problem. And, well, I was grateful as hell, but I couldn’t accept not paying her when she was doing so much, so I started to cook for her instead –” both women laughed, Emma relaxing as she pressed her head into Lydia’s shoulder, fondly embarrassed, “– and, well. Let’s just say that when the lease came up on that place, we ended up getting a house together. Never looked back. Had to go out of state to get married the first time, but we renewed our vows at home last year when the laws went through.”

“That’s wonderful,” Kent said, a soft expression on his face. “Mom, can I ask what you do?”

“Oh!” Emma flapped a hand. “After that first year on my own, I got my shit together enough to start going to school, taking classes. I learned how to code, because it felt like something I could do by myself, you know? I could make things, do things, learn in my own time as well as in class. I ended up loving it, and once I had a certification, I started freelancing while I was working other jobs – designing websites, apps, little bits of everything.” She shrugged, lips twitching in quiet pride. “I got good at it. By the time I met Lydia, I had a few regular gigs with big clients that let me work remotely.” And then, a touch more sadly, “It was easier, not having to deal with people in person. It still is.”

From there, the conversation drifted naturally to the girls themselves, who Kent was eager to meet. Lydia pulled out her phone and showed them both pictures: Essie, tall for her age with gap teeth and curly brown hair, and Ava, whose hair was as black as her mischievous eyes. Kent visibly drank in the details, so tender about it all that Ari’s heart nearly broke at how tentatively Kent said, “Will they want to meet me, do you think? Or would it be too strange?”

“They’ll love you,” said Emma, and as mother and son both reined in their emotions, Ari and Lydia exchanged the sort of shared, meaningful look which, he had a strange premonition, they would doubtless share plenty of times again in the future.

Eventually, and despite the goodwill of everyone present, the fact that it was a gameday asserted itself. Kent’s stomach rumbled loudly, reminding Ari that they still needed to fuel up before their nap, and after a protracted series of goodbyes and promises to stick around after the game – Kent had organised tickets for them both before leaving the rink – Emma and Lydia drove away, Kent waving to them from the drive until their car vanished from view. Ari watched him, so fond and proud it physically hurt. Kent held it together until they were back inside, then flung himself on Ari, raw laughter bubbling in his throat. Ari squeezed him hard, tearing up a little himself at the emotion of it all.

“Did that really just happen?” Kent said wonderingly. He pulled back, looking at Ari. “It feels too good to be true, but I can’t – whatever stupid part of me always thinks the worst, it’s not working right now. Or like, it is, but not so I think, like, my mom is lying to me or anything, it’s more like I’m freaking out that I’m not freaking out, if that makes sense?”

“It does,” said Ari, and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Let’s get some food, and then we can talk, if you want.”

Kent nodded gratefully, and the two of them set about cooking together, Ari whipping up some salmon pasta while Kent served as his sous chef. They ate quickly, quietly, feet bumping under the table, and only when the dishes were put away in the sink and they’d retreated to the privacy of Ari’s bedroom did they speak again.

“I guess,” said Kent, gathering his words, his fingers laced with Ari’s as they lay face to face, “I guess I’m still scared of what my dad might do. _Will_ do. He’s guaranteed to do something.”

“That’s understandable – being afraid, I mean, not whatever fuckery your dad pulls. No one could blame you for it.”

“You heard what he said, in San Jose. That’s the tip of the iceberg with him. All he cares about is how he thinks I make him look in public, but in private, he’ll do anything and everything to get his way.”

Kent’s brow furrowed as he said this last, and Ari waited him out, sensing that Kent was chewing over an idea.

“So maybe,” Kent said at last, the words coming slow and careful, “maybe this time… I need to go to him, first. When he gets surprised by stuff, he gets so angry that he forgets, sometimes, to be careful about who’s watching, but if I talk to him –” He broke off, quirking an ironic brow. “This isn’t me thinking I can, like, change him or anything. He’ll be a bastard ‘till the day he dies. But sooner or later, he’s going to find out that mom’s back in my life, and if – when – if we ever come out publicly, he’ll know about us, too.” He ducked his head, flushing. Ari squeezed his hand.

“What do you want to do, then?” 

Kent lay silent for a long, long moment. “I think I want to call him,” he said, and to Ari’s complete astonishment, Kent rolled away to grab his phone from the bedside table.

“What, _now_?”

“No time like the present,” Kent said grimly. He hesitated, faltering. “Unless you don’t think it’s a good idea –”

“No, no,” Ari said quickly. “I trust you, I’m backing your play. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“You and me both,” Kent said. “Do you, uh. Do you mind if I take this on speaker?”

“Go ahead. Do you need me to say anything?”

Kent thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. I think it’s better if it’s just me talking. I just wanna be able to tell him that more than one person is listening in, so he doesn’t think he can twist it around later.”

“All right, then.”

“So, I’m just gonna –”

“Wait,” said Ari, having a sudden brainwave. “Why don’t you just record him?”

Kent frowned. “Can I do that, legally? Like, don’t I need his permission or whatever?”

Ari sat up, grabbing for his own phone in turn. “In New York, maybe, but this is Texas. I’m pretty sure there’s a rule about it – fuck, what’s it called?” He pulled up Google and hissed in frustration when his first attempts at searching yielded no useful results, until a dim memory of a conversation with Cassie surfaced and dropped the phrase _single party consent law_ into his head. He crowed with success, turning his phone to show Kent. “See? Fucking Texas, baby. You only need one person to agree to recording, and that’s you. Not sure how that works with interstate calls, but at the very least, you’ve got grounds to argue that you thought it was legal.”

Kent stared for a moment, then grabbed him and kissed him, sweet and fierce. “I fucking love you, you know that?”

“I love you, too,” said Ari, stunned and stupid, just as Kent said, “Wait –”

They stared at each other, owl-eyed and silent. Ari could feel his heartbeat in his ears. Kent looked torn between terror and hope, and that was enough to make Ari gulp and say, “I mean it, Kent. I think I’ve been falling in love with you since the day you first moved in.”

“Fuck,” said Kent, voice shaky. He hesitated for just long enough that Ari started to go cold, wondering if he’d just made a monumental mistake, when Kent kissed him again, messy and desperate, breathing hard when they finally pulled apart again. “Fuck, Ari, me too. Didn’t mean for it to slip out like that, but – it’s been the same, for me. Since I got here. Since maybe even a little before, if that’s even possible. Like part of me was waiting for you.”

Ari shut his eyes, his smile so big it hurt in a way that didn’t hurt at all. He cupped Kent’s cheek, shivering as Kent kissed his eyebrow, his nose, the edge of his mouth, and for several blissful minutes, all they did was hold one another.

Finally, Kent heaved an exaggerated smile and rolled on his back. “All right. Gotta get this shit out of the way, okay? And I’m still gonna put it on speaker for moral support, but I’ll also do the recording thing.”

“There’s probably an app for that,” said Ari. Kent nodded, then proceeded to frown adorably at his phone as he looked for one, a tiny bit of tongue peeking out from the edge of his mouth. It felt surreal, to be preparing for something as vile as a call to Kent’s dad when they’d just admitted to loving each other, but Ari was willing to roll with it for the sake of closure. Catharsis. Whatever.

“All right,” said Kent, a few minutes later. He’d picked an app and had everything set up to go. “All right. All right.”

Ari reached across and took his free hand, squeezing gently.

Kent shut his eyes and dialled.


	22. Chapter 22

Kent’s dad picked up on the fourth ring.

“Kent,” he said, curt and disapproving. “Calling to apologise?”

Kent squeezed Ari’s hand as tight as he dared, fighting down years of terrified instincts. He thought of his mom, of Lydia and the pictures he’d seen of Essie and Ava, and willed himself to be calm. “Actually, no,” he said. “I’m calling to update you on some important developments in my life, and I’d appreciate if you’d hear me out before commenting on them.”

A grudging, mistrustful silence. “Go ahead.”

“First off, I need you to know that I’m gay. I’ve always been gay, and you’ve always called me that when you were angry, like it was an insult, but I don’t know if you ever actually realised it was true or not, so. I am, and I always will be, and at some point I’m going to come out publicly –”

“You selfish, cretinous, deviant _fa_ –”

“Second,” Kent said loudly, cutting off his dad’s tirade at the expense of his heartrate, which was probably high enough to make his trainers worried, “Mom is back in my life.”

He could hear his dad’s breath getting louder, angrier by the second. “That fucking gold-digging bitch, what the _fuck_ does she want from you other than money –”

“Nothing that you’d think of as valuable, that’s for goddamn sure,” snapped Kent, then forced himself to rein it in. He looked at Ari, drawing strength from his touch, his presence, and somehow found the courage to keep speaking. “The night she left, when I was a kid? I was listening when you fought with her. I heard everything. I heard you threaten to kill us both if she ever tried to take me away.”

His father scoffed. “You think I meant that? You think I’m really that sort of man?”

“You’re absolutely that sort of man,” said Kent, “and thank you, by the way, for not denying that you said it – because that’s the third thing. I’m recording this call, and I’m having it on speaker with a witness nearby, too. This is all going on the record, and if anything ever happens to me, or mom, or anyone we care about, and there’s any reason whatsoever to believe that you were involved in it, then I’m taking this to the police.”

Absolute silence.

“You’d dare,” his dad said, voice shaking with rage, but also – Kent clutched at Ari, hardly daring to believe it – a tiny trace of fear. “You’d dare to threaten me? My reputation? After everything I sacrificed to get you where you are today, you’d throw it away for sodomy and a faithless bitch?”

Beside him, Ari made a low, furious sound in his throat, barely keeping from interjecting. “You didn’t sacrifice shit,” said Kent, his anger bleeding into his voice. “You paid other people to make sure I was good enough to impress you, and when you didn’t have mom around to beat on anymore, you took it out on me. I owe you _nothing_ , and I never have – not respect, not your reputation, and certainly not my silence. So here’s what’s going to happen.”

He drew a breath, astonished that his dad didn’t seize the chance to jump in again, and bulled ahead with all he had. “Mom’s going to be at my game tonight, and at some point in the near future, I’m probably going to be interviewed about reconnecting with her again. Now, I don’t know if she’ll want the truth about what you did to her out in the open – that’s her decision to make, and I’ll respect it either way – but I have every intention of telling the truth about how you treated me. And when that happens, you’re not going to throw a screaming fit. You’re not going to try and track her down to harass her, or send bullying calls to the Aeros’ front office, or think about paying someone to hurt any of us, or try to get away with hurting us yourself. If the press comes to you to confirm or deny our stories, unless you suddenly grow a conscience and feel like telling the actual truth, you’re going to say _no comment_ and politely turn them away – and otherwise, dad? You’re going to _shut the fuck up_ and get on with your life, because as of right now, I want nothing more to do with you _ever again_.” 

What followed was an exercise in futile, impotent rage. His dad swore and cursed, predictably too angry to care about being recorded, and Kent said nothing: didn’t rise to his baits, didn’t answer his questions. It was exhausting, terrifying and yet, at the same time, weirdly liberating. He stared at his phone, tuning out the vitriol spewing from the speaker, and felt a strange, almost dissociative calm steal over him. Without the threat of fists or the fear of control, his dad was nothing but an angry voice, and all Kent had to do now was wait for him to tire himself out, like the world’s shittiest, most bigoted toddler screaming his way through a tantrum.

When the shouting finally started to peter out, Kent picked up the phone and said, mildly, “Are you done?”

No answer; only furious huffing.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Goodbye, Richard,” Kent said, and hung up the call. As if in a dream, he blocked his dad’s number, made sure the recording was safely stored both on his phone and in the cloud, set his regular afternoon nap alarm, put the phone on the charger, and then walked steadily to the ensuite, where he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and threw up every scrap of the beautiful pasta Ari had made for lunch.

Ari was there in a heartbeat, rubbing his back and getting him a glass of water. Kent let out a single sob, then laughed as he sat up and rinsed his mouth out, spitting bile as he flushed the mess away. He stood on wobbly legs and brushed his teeth, barely conscious of anything but Ari’s arms around his waist, his forehead pressed to the nape of Kent’s neck.

When Kent was done, he turned around and melted into Ari’s arms, wrung out and shivery with it.

“That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen,” Ari murmured, carding his fingers through Kent’s hair. “You were amazing.”

“Don’t feel amazing right now,” said Kent, chuckling weakly. His stupid eyes were wet, _again_ , and he had the belated realisation that therapy of some sort would probably be an excellent way of investing in his future. “Keep telling me, though. It helps.”

“That’s no hardship,” said Ari. “You’re always amazing to me.”

They stumbled back to bed, stripping naked as Ari turned out the lights, then cuddled in close together, skin on skin. There was nothing sexual about it, but it settled Kent, anchoring him back to the room and the present moment; back to the wealth of happiness he’d suddenly been given and been brave enough to fight for.

He was almost asleep when the door creaked open; apparently, they hadn’t shut it all the way. A few seconds of silence followed, and then Kit appeared on the end of the bed, her fluffy tail a magnificent plume as she stalked up the covers and curled herself up on Kent’s pillow.

“Hey, princess,” he murmured, voice only a little watery as he skritched her head. Kit yawned and shut her eyes, chin resting on her paws.

Ari laughed softly. “She really does love you for more than your human thumbs.”

“I guess she does,” said Kent, and fell asleep to the gentle sound of purring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! Thank you so much to everyone who read along with this and put up with the unexpected mini-hiatus in the middle of things; life got in the way for a little bit, but now we're all stuck inside during a pandemic, and now that I've worked through my personal feelings of despair, rage and general verklemptness at the state of the world, apparently I can write again. I hope you enjoyed the ending! <3


End file.
